


Four Regrets

by Guardian_of_Hope



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Changing time, Choosing Family, Gen, Healing, Reunions, Time Travel, clone kids, friends - Freeform, friends are family you choose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_of_Hope/pseuds/Guardian_of_Hope
Summary: Master Quinlan Vos once told his Padawan he had four regrets in his life.For Misha, finding himself in a position to fix those regrets, there's no choice.  Especially considering that helping his Master means saving his father and his uncles, also known as the Grand Army of the Republic, and the Jedi.





	1. Into Fate

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is Misha, an OC kid of an OC Clone (Zip, from Search, Rescue, and Retrieval).  
> I intro'd Misha in Wanderer, but had to put the story aside for reasons. Then I decided to bring him back for this because he fulfills the criteria needed for a subtle overthrow of the usual order of things. The SRR verse events are a part of this universe, but this is just one of many paths for the future of the SRR and is NOT the main story line.

The message came in written in the metadata of a video of Misha’s dad.  Misha had to laugh at the sight of Zip running the obstacle course that had been the bane of every one of his cousins, and then cheer loud enough to attract attention when his _buir_ broke the course record.

“Your turn,” his dad says to the holocam before heading off to celebrate, and Misha can’t stop laughing.  They both know he’ll never rack up those scores on an obstacle course like that.

“Hey, Mish, what’s so funny?”

Misha turned to glare at his wingman, “Firstly, it’s Mish _-a,_ not Mish.  Secondly, it’s a vid from my _buir,_ so it’s, you know, kind of personal.”

“No harm meant,” Mik said, his lekku tightening up in agitation as he held his hands up.  “I was just trying to be sociable.”

Misha shook his head, he _missed_ Torrent, for all that the squad’s name had been jarring as hell for a kid whose bedtime stories had included the original company in all it’s glory.  His transfer to Blue Squad was a headache and a half, simply because he wasn’t habituated in.

Still, Misha managed a smile of his own, “Sorry.  I just, I’m protective of him.  Some people,” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Mik said, “no respect for the unsung heroes.  Still, I’ll let you get back to your vid.”

“Thanks, Mik,” Misha replied.

Once he was assured that no one else was paying attention, Misha pulled up the metadata of the vid, where an enterprising slicer could slip in simple messages to a person willing enough to look.  Sure enough, something that shouldn’t be, a volunteer mission.

Misha shut down the datapad and dropped on his bunk before heading out, looking for the Captain.  Then he paused, because there was a far, far better way to get what he needed.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tamanera walked out of the command building, mentally cursing planetary time differences that kept her up all night in meetings with Command because that was _their_ day time.  She yawned, wondering if there was any caff fresh enough not to taste like tar.  She’d need a cup to keep her going long enough to hand out her orders to the squad.

“Captain!”

Tamanera sighed, promising herself that five minutes wouldn’t be that much of a delay.

“Lieutenant Osk?”

“Sir, I know we needed more pilots,” Osk began, “but, uh.”

“What is it?”  Tamanera asked.

Osk pointed across the base to the commissary, and a small but growing crowd.  Tamanera blinked a few times and realized that Osk was pointing _up._

Someone was on the commissary roof.  “Are they,” Tamanera trailed off.

“It’s Lieutenant Misha,” Osk said, “and he’s doing a handstand.”

Tamanera closed her eyes and forced herself not to declare her intentions to sleep all day.  She probably was going to do that, but she had orders she had to issue first.  “I need caff, now.  When he gets down, I want to meet with him.”

“Yes sir,” Osk replied.

Tamanera headed back into command, heading for her office, and the personnel files.  She paused and turned back, “You said Lieutenant Misha, is that first name or last name?”

“It’s his only name,” Osk said.

“He’s,” Tamanera hesitated a moment.

Osk shrugged, “You’ll have to ask him.”

“I’ll do that,” Tamanera said, “see that he sees me soon.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Tamanera had read Misha’s profile, his origins, his age, and his parentage, back when she’d requested an experienced Lieutenant to be transferred in after five promoted Lieutenants had failed.  Misha’s report had the mix of experience and review that made him seem like a great choice, but when the curly haired Lieutenant came in, Tamanera was wondering if his former superior officers had been space mad.

“Captain,” Misha saluted.

Tamanera looked him over, “Lieutenant Misha.”

“Captain, I understand that you requested to meet with me first but thank you. I had intended to make a similar request this morning,” Misha said.

“Indeed,” Tamanera replied, “tell me, Misha, how is it you have become a Lieutenant, you are many contradictions.”

The Lieutenant’s lips twitched, “And yet, I am exactly what I appear to be, sir.”

Tamanera rested her elbows on the desk and pressed her linked fingers to her lips as she studied him again.  “Your hair,” she said.

“Is still within the accepted grooming standards of the Alliance,” Misha said smoothly, although his fingers twitched as if he wanted to check the wild mop of curls.

“I understand,” Tamanera said, “I only worry that it might prove a hazard for you.”

Misha bit his lip, “Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted,” Tamanera replied after a moment.

“Sir, my parentage is no secret.  I am too clearly related to Jango Fett and his army of clones to ever deny it.  In another time, that resemblance, maybe it would be something good.  But this isn’t that time, this is a galaxy where blood of my blood where used as tools by a vicious monster in an attempt to wipe out the Light.  I was called a Jedi Killer when I was five years old.  Wearing my hair long?  Leaving it unbound when I’m not on duty?  It softens the resemblance.  Not because I am ashamed of my _buir_ and _ba’vodu,_ but because my face is a face of remembrance and pain.  Those Clone War vets who fight for the Alliance?  It doesn’t hurt them as much, seeing my hair.  Even those clones who grew out their hair, there were very, very few with a genetic quirk for curls.  _Buir_ said there were more blond _vod’e_ in the GAR than curly ones.  That is why I always make the promise that until or unless my hair has proven to be a danger or is in true violation, then I will not cut it.”

“An interesting position,” Tamanera said finally.  She honestly hadn’t thought of it, but now, she did see the resemblance.  She had been almost twelve when the war ended, but she did remember the holos showing the troopers and their Jedi Generals.  “Have you experienced any trouble on this base?”

“No sir,” Misha said, “not yet.”

“And this morning,” Tamanera said.

Misha glanced away for a moment, “ _Buir_ sent me a video, I was homesick and wanted to clear my mind.  Meditation is good for that and, I find it relaxing to see things from a different perspective.”

Tamanera studied her Lieutenant for a moment, seeing the faint spark of mischief in his eyes and a quirk to his lips as if he was highly amused by the whole thing.  Suddenly, she wanted to go find his original training officers and beat them with a stick.  There were no warnings in his paperwork that he was a sassy little shit.

“I understand your position,” Tamanera said, “however, your choice of being on the roof.”

An explosion, loud enough to make her window vibrate, cut her off, followed by others.  Then the alert started sounding.

“We will discuss this later,” Tamanera said as she pulled her blaster and followed the Lieutenant out the door.

“Of course, Captain,” Misha said with a wide grin.  He headed for the front door while Tamanera went to get reports from her people.

“Commander,” Tamanera said as she entered the command space.

Yannov turned to look at her, “Ground assault by the Imperials.  They clearly landed in a blind spot.”

“Sir, security reports that they’ve found the leader,” one of the comm officers said, “uh, they say,” he paused.

“Speak up,” Yannov ordered.

“The leader is carrying a red lightsaber,” the officer said finally, his face nearly white and his eyes huge.

A red lightsaber.  Tamanera had heard of such things, mostly from Phoenix Group before Yavin, but she’d never imagined seeing one.

“Order evacuations,” Yannov said, “send everyone to the transports.  Order security to slow down the storm troopers and the leader, but do not engage directly.”

“I’ll get my people moving,” Tamanera said, barely waiting long enough to salute before running out.  The explosions had come from near the landing pad where the X-Wings waited, they were probably destroyed, but her people could act as bridge crews for the transports as well.  She came out a side door of the command building, avoiding the chances of racing into a firefight and began to make her way around the back of buildings to the pilot’s area.

By the time she reached the last building, there were imperial troops facing her pilots and Tamanera cursed softly.  There wasn’t going to be an easy retreat.  She raced up to take position behind one of the hastily assembled barricades, just as three men went soaring through the air from around the corner of a building.

“Sitrep,” Tamanera ordered Osk.

“We’re missing two,” Osk said, “Pal’era is down, and Misha hasn’t been seen.”

“He left command just before we heard about the red blade,” Tamanera replied.

“I saw him,” Jed called, “he was heading into the barracks.”

“Damn idiot,” Osk said, “what would he want out of there.”

Suddenly, the red blade came around the corner, lightsaber dancing as the being blocked their attacks.  Tamanera swallowed, suddenly she didn’t want to see a lightsaber up close anymore.

A sharp whistled sounded from on top of the barracks and Tamanera took a risk to look up.

Misha, hair unbound, stood on the roof.  He had a blaster on his hip, but something else in his hands. 

“ _Mir’osik,”_ Misha called, “I hope you actually know how to use that that thing.”  Then he jumped, midway through his fall he shoved his hands forward, and the thing he carried suddenly sprouted a violet light beam.  When they collided with the red blade’s own lightsaber, Tamanera realized that they were lightsabers.

“What the,” she breathed.

Osk muttered something under his breath, one of those phrases he used but never translated.

“We need to move,” Tamanera said after a moment of watching Misha and the red blade fight, “we have to get to our transports.”

“But, Misha,” Jed protested.

There was a crushing thud as the red blade fell back, Misha turned, “GO!  I’ve got my own way out.”

“You heard him,” Osk grabbed Jed and dragged him away.

They ran as a group, firing on storm troopers as they went, but soon were in the forests that surrounded their base.  They raced through the forest, finding the marked paths that would lead to the small collection of shuttles that would serve as their getaway.

Fire from behind faded away, and Tamanera began to believe that they’d make it.

“Get down!”  Misha bellowed, causing Tamanera to trip in surprise.

Blaster fire reigned down in front of them, quickly blocked by twin violet blades.

“Lieutenant,” Tamanera said.

“This way’s no good,” Misha said over his shoulder.  “Go right, head for the waterfall.  There’s another way.  Trust me.”

Tamanera hesitated, then nodded, signaling her squad as she started on Misha’s path.

It was hard, Tamanera was short on sleep and there were injuries, but they stayed together.

“Is he a Jedi,” Macidottir asked suddenly as she leaned against a tree.

“I don’t know,” Tamanera admitted when she realized they were all looking at her, “it’s not in his files.”

“My full file is classified.”

Tamanera wasn’t aware she’d pointed her blaster until she saw Misha ducking behind a tree.

“Lieutenant,” she said.

“Sorry Captain,” Misha said, easing around the tree.  “But I will point out, again, that the personnel forms don’t ask for midichlorian counts or philosophical orders.  So, whether I am or not, I’m not required to declare it.”

“But are you a Jedi?”  Macidottir pushed.

“Yes,” Misha said.  “Knighted in full by recognized Masters of the Order.”  He glanced at them, “I know you’re all tired, but we have to get moving.  There is another way off this planet, but we have to take a short cut to get there.”  He paused, “There’s a Jedi Temple here, from what fuck-face said, that’s why he’s here.”

“Who?”  Osk asked.

Misha smirked, “The Inquisitor?  His name is, well, Krifface, and he’s got an anger problem.”

“You know him?”  Tamanera asked.

“I crossed blades with him before,” Misha nodded.  “He gets emotional in a fight and forgets his skills.”  He turned, “The Temple has a way through to the shuttles but going through it may be unnerving.”

“Why?”  Tamanera asked.

“Some Temples are just buildings, saturate in the Force, but buildings.  Jedi live and train there, and the buildings reflect that.”  Misha scratched his ear, “The Temple on Coruscant had an aura of peace there, before, or so I’m told.  Other Temples are like the one on Lothal.  They weren’t built but created.  The Force, it concentrates and can manifest physically in the form of wellsprings, which are literal springs in the means that they create true water.  Other times, it concentrates into nexus.  The Lothal Temple, this one, they’re nexus of the Force, places where things are different.  For the average person, it usually comes over as a weird feeling, maybe some strong dreams, if there’s a measurable sensitivity, it means auditory or visual hallucinations, but in those cases all you have to do is hang onto them and keep them moving.”

“What about you?”  Tamanera asked.

Misha shrugged, “It’s nothing I can’t handle.  The Temple reacts to intent, whatever it wants to throw at me will be because of that.  The thing is, once we’re in the Temple, the troopers will lose us, and it’ll even make it hard for fuck-face to find you.”

“Must you?”  Tamanera asked with a sigh.

Misha looked at her for a long moment, “Captain, I absolutely must refer to him that way.  I was taught that what you call someone should always be an example of how you measure their worth.  By refusing to acknowledge his real name, I demonstrate how little concern and respect I have for him.  I’m _vod’ade_ , we name ourselves and respect the chosen names of others.”  He paused, “We also recognize the difference between teasing and naming.  My family’s been trying to name me Mishap for years.  Now, we need to get going.  The Temple’s this way, and if nothing else, we can stop within it’s entrance for a real rest, which I know we all need.  If need be, we can take the long way around, but it’ll take days.”

“Let’s move,” Tamanera said finally.

It felt like they walked for miles before someone spoke up again, “Aren’t you worried that the Inquisitor can track you?”

Misha and Tamanera both looked over their shoulder, “Why?”  Misha asked.

Vos blushed, “I was Phoenix Squadron, sir.  Master Kanan and Commander Ezra had trouble with Inquisitors.  They didn’t announce it, but everyone knew.  It took us forever to find Chopper Base because of it.”

Misha chuckled, “No, I’m not worried.  Part of the reason I even joined the Rebellion was because shields are one of my strongest skills.  Once I knocked fuck-face out, I pulled up my best shields.  Not even my Master could find me with these, and we had a Force based training bond.  There are a lot of different groups running around the forests as well, and it’s hard to tell troopers from Rebels.  When fuck-face wakes up, he’ll probably realize where we’re headed, but he won’t know for sure.”

“Who trained you?”  Vos asked after a moment.

Misha stopped and turned to look at her, “Tailena Vos, right, from Kiffar?”

“Right,” Vos said.

“I’d prefer not to talk about it right now.  Especially not if we’re possibly entering a Jedi Temple.  There are two pieces of advice given about Temples, the first being that what you’re looking for is ‘nothing and everything’, but what’s inside is ‘only what you take with you’, and I’m bringing enough baggage.”  Misha bowed slightly, “I’d be happy to speak of it on the shuttle, if you would indulge me.”

“Of course,” Vos said.

They finally cleared the tree line, taking a path that was just wide enough for Tamanera to walk beside Misha.  “Are you sure this Temple is a good idea?”  She asked him.

Misha glanced over, “It’s the best one we’ve got.  It’ll cut days and miles off our walk, and we won’t have to worry about being detected.”

“But what about what it will do to you?”  Tamanera said.

Misha lifted his chin, hazel eyes narrowing slightly, “I’m a Mandalorian Jedi Knight, Captain Tamanera, there is nothing a Jedi Temple can throw at me that I can’t handle.”

“That sounds like a jinx,” Tamanera said.

Misha shook his head, “I know my demons, Captain.  The things that the Temple is most likely to throw at me, I’m aware of them.  There was an incident, during my apprenticeship.  I spent months speaking with a Jedi Mindhealer in the aftermath, to accept and deal with what happened.  Even if I have not fully conquered all of my demons, I am aware they exist and can face them.”

Maybe she was tired, but Tamanera was struck by the difference between this man and the one she’d been speaking with in her office.  Then she took another look and realized that it was more that he wasn’t hiding his smirks and sardonic expressions as much.  Was it because they were in the middle of a crisis, or did he feel that, with them knowing his status as a Jedi, did he feel free to be himself.

“The Temple’s just up here,” Misha said.  “We can take a break in the outer entrance and make our decision either way.  The Temple’s protections will provide us with cover, but we’ll be outside the influence of the nexus.  Just don’t wander off further into the cave, no matter what.”

The Temple entrance wasn’t much, it looked more like a crack between some boulders than the opening to a Temple.  Tamanera followed Misha’s gesture to lead the others in and was almost disappointed to find a natural cave.  Then some more glow lights were activated, and she realized that at the far end of the cave was a tunnel with a carved entrance, complete with a script she’d never seen before.  She moved closer to see it, frowning.  Over the lintel was three circles, one with an open hand pointed to the left, one with an open hand pointed up, and one with a fist.

A hand grabbed her arm, “Captain.”

Tamanera blinked at Osk, “What?”

Osk tilted his head slightly, “The Lieutenant did say not to wander off.”

“Right,” Tamanera said, turning away from the door.

The others start to settle down, but Tamanera hesitates, unwilling to stop as she knows she’s going to fall asleep.  Then Misha came in, looking at them, “I don’t care if we go through the Temple or not, I’m tired,” he announces.  “The doorway is concealed for now, if fuck-face wakes up, he’ll need a lot of effort to figure out where we are, and from what I can sense, the others are either dead or evacuated.  I’ll leave you all to figure out where you want to go, I’m going to meditate and rebalance myself.”  He paused and pointed at Tamanera, “Sleep, Captain.  What comes will come, and we should be prepared to accept it as it comes.”

That said, Misha very deliberately knelt down in front of the Temple door, bowed his head and became still.

Tamanera considered a moment, eyeing her squad, such as they were.  “I am getting some sleep.  I was up all night with Command briefings.”  There were sympathetic winces with that statement.  “Don’t wander, take the time to check for injuries.  We’ll decide our next move in four hours.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Misha came back to himself at the soft sounds of groaning. 

“Someone should have grabbed food.”  Tailena Vos muttered.

“Bag’s by the door,” Misha said, and wrinkled his nose.  Meditating on his knees made his mouth feel dry.

“Lieutenant!”  Vos said.

“Other door,” Misha added as he opened his eyes.

The small glow lights that had been set up were still burning, although some seemed ready to give out.  Most of the squad were sitting in the center of the room, some on the floor, others on boulders.  Captain Tamanera was stretched out on the floor, clearly still asleep.

Vos came back from the mouth of the cave, carrying his grab bag, the yellow tattoo on her face all but glowing in the lamp light.  Misha checked his watch, just over four hours.  “You’ve been here four hours and you didn’t notice the bag,” he said standing up.

“This place is kind of unsettling,” Mik says, waving his hand.  Misha eyed him for a moment, now concerned that he’d missed something about his wingmate.

As before, all he got was the impression of a sentient being with no particular talent for the Force.  “If that feeling gets worse, or changes abruptly, let me know,” Misa says as he moves beside Vos and the bag.  “There’s some rations in there, not much, but enough that everyone can get something, a first aid kid and a bigger lantern.”

“You packed this?”  Vos asked as she pulled out the lantern.

“I always keep a bag packed for emergencies,” Misha said as he set up the lantern.  “My _buir_ taught me.”

“Okay, now that I don’t get,” Vos said, “your dad’s a clone trooper, from the Republic.”

“Yes,” Misha said.

“But you’re a Jedi,” Vos said.

“Yes.”

“How!”  Macidottir demanded.

Misha looked at her for a moment, then smiled, “Which part?”

“The clones killed the Jedi,” Vos said.

Misha’s smile faded.  “There’s more to it than that.  I’d prefer to keep this short, so we can leave when the Captain’s ready.”  He settled himself down and rested his elbows on his knees.  “The Grand Army of the Republic was created by the people of Kamino, scientists who specialized in full sentient cloning.  For a price.  It was ordered by Jedi Master Sifo Dyas after a series of visions from the Force about war and death.  He paid for it by accessing the Order’s war account, a remnant of the last time the Jedi went to war.  As a Council Member, Master Dyas could access that account without anyone being aware until after the fact.”

He accepted a water bottle from Vos, took a drink and passed it on.

“To meet the requirements of Master Dyas’s vision, the Kaminoans accelerated the aging of the clones.  The original clones aged two years for every one.  This would later be accelerated to ten to one in the last year of the war.  For those of you trying to figure it out, when the Battle of Geonosis began, the oldest Clone on the field was CT-798, and he was 13 Standard.”

“Thirteen!”

Misha nodded, letting their protest die away.  “The genetic alterations were total, though Chip had seen 13 standard years, he was 26 physically and mentally.  As a cloned individual, the laws against child soldiers and war crimes did not apply.  After the Purges, after the chips, geneticists from Javor worked with the _vod’e_ to try to do something about the aging issue to varying success.  They also worked to minimize the aging in the offspring of the _vod’e._   That was also a varying success.”  He considered the group, “Mik, how old am I?”

Mik studied him, “Twenty-three, maybe?”

Misha chuckled, “I’m 17.”  He paused and checked his chrono, “No, I’m 18, today.  Happy life day to me, right?”

“17,” repeated Mik.

“He is,” Captain Tamanera announced, moving to kneel beside Misha.  “Happy Life Day, Misha.”

Misha nodded, “Thanks Captain.”  He turned back, “That’s how I came to be, as in exist.  The scientists needed to finish the gestation period to see if their work was a success.  _Buir_ was one of six who agreed to it.  I have a second parent, the _Vod’e_ can’t reproduce together because they’re cloned DNA.  They have to have a second genetic source.  I know who the other is, but they have never been a strong part of my life, save as how their being Ilandrian affects my Force abilities.”

“Affects them?”  Osk said.

“Ilandrians have a tendency to prescience and precognition, visions of what may come.  My other parent has a knack of weather prediction and has been summarily banned from sabacc in all it’s forms.  Master Kara Saje, another of the Ilandrian Jedi Masters, her skill is to draw her visions.  It’s complicated, but she has a proven track record on the matter.  Master Kara always said the trick was to understand if what you saw was something you were meant to change or something you were meant to aware would happen.”

“What about you?”  Osk said after a moment.

Misha took the ration bar that Vos handed him.  “Dreams and visions, mostly.  There have been times when the visions come at bad moments, but most of them come while I’m meditating.  It’s why I prefer to do handstand mediations, it encourages the visions more.”  He broke the ration bar in half and took a quick bite.

“How did you become a Jedi?”  Macidottir asked when Misha swallowed with a grimace.

“It’s actually shown in both sides of my family,” Misha said.  “Although the longnecks were damn quick to stomp it out, the murderous _di’kut._   Other parent is a Jedi, actually.”  He stood up, no longer in the mood to explain the family horror story.  “That’s enough.  We need to get moving, either through the Temple or around.”

“Do you still advocate going through?”  Osk asked.

“Absolutely,” Misha replied, “It’s safe.”  He stopped as something twanged his senses.  He held up his hand, closing his eyes and cracking his shields enough to really pull in the warning.

_Red light flooded his vision, and a voice he’d never forgotten spoke.  “You were trained by an idiot and a child.  Now you seek to face me?”_

_“No,” Misha replied, “I seek nothing.  Should it be required of me, I will defend myself and those in my protection.”_

_“You are more of a fool than Quinlan Vos.”_

Misha threw himself backwards, avoiding a lightsaber that was no longer there.

“Misha?”

Misha sighed a little and opened his eyes, “Well, that was fun.”

“What happened?”  Tamanera demanded as she leaned over him.

“Vision,” Misha replied, as he began to sit up, “Force sent, but it could be because I’m in the Temple.”  He turned to the doorway.  In his mind, the rhythmic breathing of Darth Vader echoed from within.

“We will go around,” Tamanera said.

A thud shook the room and dust fell from the ceiling.  “Sorry,” Misha said, “that’s fuck-face and his little fuckers, trying to break down the door.  If you want to commit suicide, go right ahead, but me?  I want to live.”

“Me too,” Vos said.

Misha glanced at her, “Anyone else?”

“I think all of us,” Tamanera said as another explosion went off.  “Your lead, Lieutenant.”

Misha nodded, “Osk, I would appreciate you bringing up the rear.  You’re, steady and grounded.  Nobody stops, nobody gets left behind.  Think you can handle it?”

“Of course,” Osk says.

“Everyone else, take a wingman,” Misha said.  “I don’t sense the kind of Force sensitivity that would make this more than some atmosphere and maybe minor auditory or visual hallucinations, but it’s better to have someone confirm or deny the weird sounds.”  He glanced at Tamanera, “Captain, I would be honored if you’d walk with me.”

Tamanera smiled back, “I will.”

They walked over to the door and Misha reached up, just barely tall enough to touch the lintel.  The three symbols that were more than symbols.  The stone from the Lothal Temple had the same markings.  Then Misha took a deep breath, called a light to his hand as some of the others cried out in surprise, and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was that the temperature dropped at least ten degrees, taking on a just noticeable chill.  The second thing he noticed was the silence.  He watched as the squad approached, some of them talking as they passed around the lights, but he didn’t hear anyone’s whisperings until they also passed the lintel.  Once everyone was in, Misha again reached up, opening to the Force enough to allow his fingers to find what he sought.  A heavy stone slab, seemingly a part of the lintel, came free and slid down, blocking the entrance.  There was a grinding noise and Misha knew that the engravings were moving back into the void left behind by the slab, feeling how the Force swirled around him to protect the entrance.

“Now we can go,” he said, turning to make his way past the squad.

“You locked us in,” Mik said.

“No, I locked fuck-face out,” Misha replied.  “If we wanted to go back, opening that door is easy.  There’s a switch on the left-hand side of the frame, about eye level for the average human.  Let’s go.”

At first, it wasn’t so bad.  There were some quiet conversations happening, but Misha didn’t pay attention.  He was listening, following the Force as it moved around them.  All too soon, something would happen, he knew, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

\---------------------------------------------------------

Tamanera was worried.  Misha had been walking down the tunnel with his eyes half closed and his head tilted slightly for a while, but now he’d stopped.  His eyes were open, but his pupils were contracted to near invisibility and he had a sad smile on his face for a moment before he frowned.

“Wait a minute, I don’t want to join a team,” he said, protested really as he stepped forward.  “One-Shot, I don’t, no.  I’m not going back, not for this.”

Tamanera glanced over her shoulder and frowned, Macidottir was staring at Misha, and the tunnel intently, but _her_ eyes were dilated.

“Did everyone take stupid pills?”  Misha demanded, _“Di’kut,_ I’m not going back.  That’s not my place or my path, it never has been.”

Tamanera glanced ahead, reaching over to put her hand on Misha’s arm.

Misha tensed, and unleashed a string of Mando that had that biting edge of swearing.  “I’m a Jedi Shadow, my job is to hunt Dark Jedi and the Sith, and to be the eyes and ears of the Jedi Council.  I was trained for it, born for it.  I gave my word to the Alliance that I would fight for them besides, and I keep my word.  I’m not going anywhere.”

Suddenly he relaxed and blinked, turning to look at her as his pupils began to expand, “That,” he paused, “did you, see that?”

“No,” Tamanera replied.

Misha tilted his head thoughtfully, “I hadn’t realized I was worried about that.”

“Worried?”  Tamanera said.

“About being forced to go home and abandoning the Alliance,” Misha said.  He shook his head slightly, “ _Buir_ would shoot them in the ass if they tried it.  Let’s keep moving.”

They had made it at least a half mile before Macidottir suddenly gasped, and then screamed.  Misha spun, “Fuck, everybody move.”

As the squad scattered, except for Vos, who stubbornly clung to Macidottir’s hand, Misha strode back to her.  By the time Misha reached them, the two pilots were on the ground.

“Don’t get in my way,” Misha ordered Vos as he knelt down, and then put his hand on Macidottir’s face.  He put his thumb between her brow, his pointer and index finger on her temple, and his ring and pinky finger on two specific points on her jaw, bringing her face up at the same time so they could lock eyes.

“There you are,” Misha said soothingly.

“Who?”  Macidottir said, sounding incredibly young.

“My name is Misha, Keeli.  I’m here to bring you to safety.”  Misha said.

“O- okay,” Macidottir said.

After a moment, Misha drew Macidottir to her feet and then let go of her face.

“What happened?”  Macidottir asked.

Misha cleared his throat, “Apparently, you’re Force sensitive, Keeli Macidottir.  It wasn’t obvious before because you were never trained or pushed into using it.  That vision came from the Temple.”

Macidottir hesitated a long moment, then nodded.

“Are you okay?”  Vos asked quietly.

“Yes,” Macidottir replied, smiling at Vos.  She tilted her head to Misha, “He pulled me out of it.”

Misha stepped back, “There’s not much further to where we can sit down.  I think I’ve got you shielded enough that it won’t happen again, but I can’t promise that.  Just try to focus on the moment, don’t center on your anxieties.”

“I’ll try,” Macidottir said.

They both looked upwards, and Misha snorted, “And if you can figure that one out, you’re ahead of me.”

He turned and came up by Tamanera, as soon as his back was to everyone else, she saw his smile fade and become resigned.  “Let’s keep moving,” he said.

There was an opening ahead.  The area was a junction of three corridors.  Misha moved to where he could study the two opposite their own and Tamanera followed, leaning against the wall beside one of them and watching as Misha studied the tunnels.  Tamanera glanced back as Osk came out of their corridor and joined a small group passing around a water bottle.

Then she noticed there were carvings on the door.  Over the lintel of the corridor they’d come from was the same engraving of a closed fist that she’d seen on the Temple entrance.  Tamanera moved away from the wall and turned to look at the lintels of the other corridor, the sideways and upright hand were carved over the other two corridors.

“Captain,” Misha said, quietly, “may we speak?”

Tamanera joined Misha in the corridor of the sideways hand, “Lieutenant?”

Misha sighed, “This is the tunnel out of the Temple.  I’m not sure how far to the exit, but it’s not that far.”

“I know where the shuttles are,” Tamanera said, “I helped fly them in.”

Misha nodded, “The problem we have is Keeli.  Right now, she’s just become a beacon in the Force, the sort of thing that’s going to catch fuck-face’s attention.  Inquisitors are tasked with hunting Jedi and destroying their history, encountering an untrained Force sensitive will pull his attention hard.  She needs to be on the shuttle and out of here as fast as possible, because once she leaves the Temple, she’ll be findable.  She can’t stay in the Temple either, because the Temple will keep pulling her into trials and she is in no way prepared for them.  Keeli staying is a death sentence.”

“That’s not the whole problem, is it?”  Tamanera asked.

Misha shook his head, “To get the Temple to not latch onto Keeli, I have to take the trial myself.  That means I have to stay alone, and it could take an hour, or days.  Time in the Temple passes differently in a trial.  You can’t stay and wait for me, none of you.  Keeli’s going to pull the Inquisitor’s attention, and then he’ll pick up on everyone else.  I can steal a shuttle on my own, easily.  It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I can’t,” Tamanera began.

“I know,” Misha said.  “But for all that this, being in the Alliance, is the path I chose for myself, I’m not unaware of the practices of my cousins.  I can steal a shuttle and get out of here a lot easier on my own, I’m trained to do it.  I need you, and Vos, to take care of Keeli.”

“What do you mean?”  Tamanera asked.

“It’s too dangerous for Keeli to go straight back to the fleet.  Like Vos said, the Inquisitors can track her easily.  She has to at least learn to shield herself, and to understand how the Force is going to impact her.”  Misha ran a hand over his head, “If I could, if we weren’t here and this happened, I’d teach her myself, but I can’t.”

“Where can she get training?”  Tamanera said, although she already suspected she knew.

Misha unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and reached over to press it into Tamanera’s hand.  “Go to Hilian Space Port on Javor, and give that to the Portmaster, his name is Gear.  Tell him that you’re bringing it to CC-2976.  He’ll know what that means, and he’ll get you in touch with the people who can help, including my Dad.”  He paused, “And tell Command that you’re acting on a message from the white lothcat.  They’ll understand what that means.”

“What does it mean?”  Tamanera asked.

“A Jedi in the Alliance has been given a Force driven directive that must be carried out immediately,” Misha said.  “It’s to honor one of our lost, Ezra Bridger.  He had a number of visions of a white lothcat that lead him to free Lothal.”

Tamanera inclined her head, “I understand.”

Misha glanced over his shoulder, “I request that you keep Vos with you as well as Keeli.  They’re linked, Keeli’s going to need her support for as long as possible.”

“I am going to need a co-pilot and a navigator,” Tamanera replied dryly.

“Thank you,” Misha said, “I really owe you for this.”

“Just meet us on Javor as soon as you can,” Tamanera said.

“I will,” Misha said.

Tamanera stepped back into the group and gave a sharp whistle, “Listen up.  We’re almost out of here.  When we reach the exit, this is what will happen.  Vos, Macidottir, and I are taking one of the shuttles, we’re going to bring Macidottir to where she can get some training for her newly awakened abilities.  Osk, you’re taking the rest of the squad back to the Alliance, you remember where?”

“Of course,” Osk said.

“What about Misha?”  Macidottir asked.

“I’m going to be delayed,” Misha said, “I have to finish the trial.”

“But,” Macidottir began.

“Keeli, the choice is me or you.  If a Jedi isn’t properly trained and prepared for trials like this, it will kill them.  I can survive this, I know what to expect, and I will make it out of here.  I don’t know how long it will take, an hour or days, so you cannot wait for me.  I can handle myself.  You have to get as far away from fuck-face as possible, because you’re a target.”

“What if I don’t want to be a Jedi?”  Macidottir said, her hand tightening on Vos.

“Then you won’t be,” Misha said, “you’re still a target right now.  There are people who can show you how to protect yourself, to keep you from attracting Imperial attention.  If that’s all you want, then that’s what they’ll give you.  I’d offer to teach you, but the situation doesn’t lend itself to that.”  He knelt down in front of Keeli, “Please, at least learn what you need to protect yourself, dear one.  That’s all I’m asking, and all I can do is ask you.”

Macidottir stared at him for a long moment before she nodded.  “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Misha said.  He stood up, “You should go.”

“You’ll need supplies,” Vos said.

“No,” Misha said.  “Time works differently in a trial.  I won’t need anything until I get out, and there are supplies on the third shuttle.”

“And if the shuttle is gone?”  Mik said.

“Then I’ll rob the Empire on my way to one of their shuttles,” Misha said.  “Seriously, I have plans.  It’s kind of a thing.  All I need is for you guys to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“He’s right,” Tamanera said, hardening her voice.  The tone drew her squad up, used to hearing it when she was about to give orders.  “Osk, you’re on tail until we reach the exit.  Vos, Macidottir, you’re with me.  We have to go now.”  She turned and started down the corridor, and after a moment she heard her squad follow her.

“I don’t like this,” Mik muttered.

“None of us do,” Tamanera said over her shoulder, “but sometimes, that’s what happens.”  She caught sight of Misha watching them leave.  He bowed to her, and then was gone.


	2. Seeking Identity

The last time Quinlan Vos had been to a slave auction, he’d been tearing it apart, backed by Judicial forces.  Aayla had been with him, covering one group as he’d led another to free the slaves.  It had been the end of a long mission, and Quin still wasn’t sure if it had been worth it.

This time, he was there as an observer, possibly a buyer, and he had an entirely different, but no less marvelous, woman with him; Asajj Ventress, dressed in a form fitting, midnight blue jumpsuit that made her look far wealthier than half the spectators who passed them.

Asajj tucked her hand tighter into Quin’s arm, “Is everything all right, love?”

Quin smiled at her, “Just thinking.”  He leaned over to kiss her cheek.  “Are we looking for anything particular?”

“This time?”  Asajj said, “I thought we’d see how the mood strikes us.”

“Indeed,” Quinn said.  He had a feeling he knew what that meant, even if Asajj would never say it to anyone.

Perhaps he was in this mission too deep.  It was something Quin worried over in the moments he worked on meditation.  He’d thought that the request from the Council, carried over by Obi-Wan, would have been another easy assignment, a chance to be a part of the war effort without being around the clones.  He hadn’t expected Asajj.  Oh, he’d known of Asajj Ventress, the red blade bearing assassin who answered to Dooku.  Obi-Wan had given him chapter and verse on the woman, and Skywalker’s scar had still been a livid red wen he’d left.

None of that prepared him for the girl.  A deadly fighter, remorseless in her master’s orders, but with a fondness for elegance that she rarely displayed.  She also went out of her way to hide her soft spot, young slave girls, naïve to what they were to face.

Quin fully expected them to leave with a couple of new girls to be freed and sent away somewhere.  Dooku’s dismissive comments had been informative on the matter, although Quin had no intention of acknowledging his expectations.

“Come,” Asajj said, “there’s the auction house.”

After Asajj got her bidder’s packet, they walked through the building quickly.  It was set up in sections, where bidders were assigned to a booth, and the slaves were projected onto a screen for observation.  A bidder could request to view a slave live and be taken back to view the slave in person but that was very rare.  Quin followed Asajj to one of the booths, where Asajj pointedly sealed the door after them.

“Are you all right?”  Quin asked softly.

Asajj glanced up at him, her eyes soft for a moment before she turned and walked to the front of the bidding booth.  “I’m fine.”

Quin sighed, “Just, let me know if you need anything.”  He slid into the chair next to hers, not wanting to see the parade of sentient flesh, but respecting Asajj enough not to turn away.

Quin was proud of himself, he’d been there for three hours, and two bidding sessions turned ugly, and he wasn’t flinching when another face appeared.  At least, he wasn’t flinching before this face showed up.  Jango Fett had never looked that uncertain and confused in his life, Quin thought, wondering which of the clones had been captured for this vile practice.  He was sure it wasn’t one of the commanders or officers.  When those clones went missing, especially those associated with a Jedi, people heard about it.

“Asajj,” he said, sitting up sharply.

“I see it,” Asajj said, already keying the code for a personal meeting.  “You can’t go.”

“I know,” Quin said.

“If he’s real, I’ll bid,” Asajj said, catching Quin’s hand.  They exchanged a long look and then Asajj was gone.  Quin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and burying his face in his hands.  He wasn’t sure what he was anymore.  He wasn’t Dark, that much he knew, but he wasn’t lily white either.  He wasn’t sure what reception he’d get upon returning to the Order and he wished that Master Tholme were still alive.  If there was a Jedi who could see him as he was and tell him honestly if the pat of the Jedi was still his path, it was Master Tholme.

A soft beep caught Quinn’s attention and he looked up.

Asajj was bidding on the clone.

Quin straightened his shoulders, if Asajj won the bid, then they would have to be able to convince Dooku of his worth.  Asajj didn’t like lying to Dooku, there was a connection between them that Quin still didn’t understand.  However, Asajj was also preparing for betrayal from him too.  It was part of what had brought her into Quin’s orbit.  She’d never admitted as much, but Quin suspected that she’d had a vision of some sort telling her that Dooku wasn’t as trustworthy as he often seemed.

Quin, on the other hand, refused to confirm or deny any present ties to the Order beyond his strong connection to Aayla.  He’d have been stupid to deny that he still cared for and was protective of his Padawan, even if she were Knighted now.  He also never promised Asajj more than what they had now.  There was no forever, not plans for after the war.  Quin had no intention of dying like star crossed lovers in a holoshow.

It would hurt, if he and Asajj couldn’t maintain their balance, and it would hurt if Asajj chose to leave for her own reasons, but Quin was used to hurt.  He knew that pain from attachments was a horrible feeling, but worth it.

At least, he knew that now.

The computer chimed, indicating that Asajj had won the auction.  Quin smiled to himself, it was a victory, if a small one.

Moments later, Asajj came back in, her irritated mask turning thoughtful once the door was locked again.

“Problem?”  Quinn asked.

“He’s been mindwiped,” Asajj replied.

“That’s interesting,” Quin said.  “We’ll have to check his ID when he gets on board our ship.”

Asajj looked at him.

Quin tapped his wrist, “They have identification chips in their wrists, for if they need to be identified but are unable too.  This will work out very well for us.”

Asajj nodded slightly, “I have no further need to stay at the auction.  We should collect our purchases and leave.”

“As you command,” Quin said, standing and offering her his arm in a courtly manner.

Asajj’s lips twisted slightly, but she rested her arm in his easily.

Asajj sent her girls off with a trader who acted like the worst sort of smuggler, but when Quin checked, left no memories of pain or anger or violence in his ship save that which came from living a dangerous life.

“They’ll be safe,” Asajj said as they watched the Sullust’s battered ship depart.  “He’s a good man, and a protector.  I have known him for a very long time.”

“Okay,” Quin said, “I trust you.”

Alone at last, they were able to turn to the third person on their ship.

The clone had been quiet, docile even, since he came on board.  He stayed in his assigned cabin most of the time, coming out when called, and performing what tasks Asajj gave him quickly and proficiently.  When asked for his name, he had hesitated a long moment before offering Mishap hesitantly, as if expecting to be punished for it.

Now, they brought him into the center lounge and ordered him to sit.

“Mishap,” Quin said.

“Yes, Master?”  Mishap asked.

“Please,” Quin winced, “I’m not your owner.”

“What should I call you?”  Mishap asked carefully.

“Quin,” Quin said after a moment.

“And you, Mistress?”  Mishap asked, turning to Asajj.

“Ventress,” Asajj said firmly, “You may call me Ventress.”

Quin slid closer, “Mishap, may I see your left wrist.”

“Yes, Quin,” Mishap said and held out his hand.

Quin cradled Mishap’s hand with his own and ran his fingers over his wrist, trying to remember how you activated the sensor to provide the personal information.

_Spinning, spinning, spinning blades, spinning world, spinning mind.  Lighting, force born and powered by hate.  Gleeful but mocking laughter morphing into maniacal cackling. Pain cutting through his body and mind separately, and then turning into something far worse.  Then blackness._

Quin yanked his hands back, stunned.  That wasn’t a vision, that was touch reading.  He looked at Mishap’s hand, then reached out and grabbed it again.  Pushing aside more of those memories, Quin ran his fingers over Mishap’s hand an arm.

“What?”  Asajj asked.

“It’s a prosthetic,” Quin managed finally.  “It,” he touched Mishap’s arm, “it runs up to here.”

“I’ve never seen a prosthetic like that,” Asajj said, moving over to see.  She ran a finger across Mishap’s palm.

Mishap jolted slightly, “Sorry,” he said, uncurling his hand.  “That tickled.”

“You can feel that?”  Quin said, “That’s not,” he paused, remembering Obi-Wan’s words, “Synth-skin isn’t capable of supporting neuro-relays.  There’s too many layers between the surface and the relay for an accurate read.”

“I don’t know,” Mishap said when they glanced at him, he ducked his head a moment, “I was ill for a long time.  There were a lot of things that didn’t feel right.  I didn’t realize my arm wasn’t real at first.  Nobody else there noticed either.”

Quin considered Mishap a moment, then open his senses, not the touch reading, but that deep sense that marked him as a Jedi above all.

It was easy to tell that Mishap was uneasy, even a little fearful, but there was something, a strong, inner sense of strength that almost made Quin think of the Jedi.  Not the strong ones, like Obi-Wan or Master Windu, but more like Tholme, or Aayla, who’s strength in the Force came from skill and trust in the Force, not raw power.

“May I take a closer reading of your hand?”  Quin asked.  “I’m a Kiffar.”

“It’s a species trait,” Mishap said in unison with him, even as his brow furrowed in confusion.  Then he shook his head slightly and offered his hand again, “I don’t mind, sir.”

Quin reached out, this time deliberately reaching for the visions within.  There were several of the slaves, and Mishap’s admitted illness.  Then the same spinning as before.  Quin tried to push further than that, but all that came back was an echo of Mishap’s voice.

_“I can survive this, I know what to expect, and I will make it out of here.”_

After a moment more of pushing, he had to sit back.  “I can’t pick up much,” he admitted.  He glanced at Mishap, “At least, not before what I presume is what cost you your memories.  Just a statement, _‘I can survive this, I know what to expect, and I will make it out of here.’”_

Mishap jerked back again, eyes wide, “I, I said that, to someone.”  He said after a moment, then his eyes narrowed as he clearly tried to seek the memory.  “Someone else, they were in trouble and had to be evacuated.  I was, I was buying her time?  I think?”  He winced slightly.

“Don’t force it,” Quin told him, “your memory will return on its own schedule.”

“If he was mindwiped,” Ventress said.

“He wasn’t,” Quin told her, then turned to Mishap.  “I’ve had some experience with memory loss, and yours isn’t mechanically induced.  I’d almost think it was a head injury, in all honesty.”

Mishap nodded slightly, “All right.”

“There is a specific reason we chose you,” Quin continued.  “Asajj- Ventress and I are part of a group that is seeking to break away from the Galactic Republic.”

“That’s the government in place in the Core,” Mishap said after a moment.

“Not just the Core,” Quin said, “they’ve got a large sphere of influence.”

“Then you two are Separatists,” Mishap said.

“Yes,” Asajj said.

“This has something to do with me being a clone, doesn’t it?”  Mishap asked warily, “Like those so-called guards were saying.”

“Yes,” Quin said.  “We are working on a plan for you, which should buy us time to pull off a victory.”

“A plan for me,” Mishap repeated.

“There is a very valuable Force artifact that my Master requires of me,” Asajj said, “there is a chance that the Republic will have sent people to retrieve it.”

“Not to mention that the ruins supposedly have many tricks and traps for the unwary,” Quin added.  “We need someone to watch our backs that isn’t a blasted droid, or Force Sensitive.”

“And you want me to fulfill that role?”  Mishap said.

“If the Republic has sent people, it will be a Jedi and some of their blasted clones,” Asajj said, “we’re hoping that the sight of you, on our side, will make them hesitate enough to let us get out of there with the artifact.”

“So, you need a bodyguard and a distraction?”  Mishap said, “And probably bait as well.”  He studied the two of them for a long moment.  “I know you,” he said finally.  “I don’t know how or why, but I know both of you, and I feel that I can trust you both.  Besides, I owe you for what you’ve done for me.  I’ll do it.”

Quin glanced at Asajj, but her mask was in full force and there was little to show what she thought of Mishap’s statement.

“We have to go by Serenno,” Asajj announced, standing up, “there is information to be had from Count Dooku before we go hunting artifacts.”

“What does that mean for me?”  Mishap asked, standing up as Quin did.

“Just, obey,” Quin said.  “Don’t speak unless spoken too and don’t offer any opinions.  Don’t pull attention to yourself.”

“Yes sir,” Mishap said quietly.

“We’re not going to be there for long,” Quin added, “Dooku doesn’t exactly trust me.”

“I don’t understand,” Mishap said, “I find you quite trustworthy.”

Quin stared at the man for a very long moment, but he couldn’t detect anything but honest sincerity from him.  He pointed at Mishap, “I am never introducing you to Aayla.”

“As you say,” Mishap said calmly.  He gestured, “Are you her co-pilot?”

Quin studied the man again, from hazel eyes and blank face, military short hair, and then realized that his lips were quirked just a little, just enough to show a dimple in his cheek.

“You,” he told him, “are way too sassy for my sanity.  Don’t eat everything in the galley, but eat something, you’re much too thin.”

That said, Quin went to join Aayla in the cockpit for the rest of their flight.

Mishap did not eat everything in the galley.  He left two expired packages of rations on the counter.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Quin always felt like he was underdressed when he faced the Count of Serenno.  It probably had something to do with the fact that their first meeting had been shortly after his arrival at the Temple, a time when Quin had been in absolute defiance of baths and had been known to run away at any opportunity, clothing optional.

Facing him now brought the memory of that particular afternoon to the forefront of Quin’s mind with pointed sharpness.  From the look on Dooku’s face, it seemed highly likely that Dooku was also remembering the incident in question.

“Master,” Asajj said with a graceful bow.

“Master Dooku,” Quin said with a half-bow.

“You said you had found an asset for your plans for the Temple,” Dooku said.

Quin gestured behind him, aware that Mishap was coming hesitantly down the ramp.  “This is Mishap, our newest, acquisition.”

Dooku studied the three of them impassively, “And what do you have to say for yourself?”  He finally asked Mishap.

Mishap stiffened slightly, his shoulders squaring up, “Sir, I’m an amnesiac.  I have no memory of what happened to me before I wound up at the auction grounds, but I know I was rather ill.  I have a memory of saying my name was Mishap, but that is all.  Mistress Ventress and Master Vos bought me at the auction, and it is my honor to serve them to the best of my ability.”

“Indeed,” Dooku said after a long moment.  He turned to Asajj, “I have an errand for you to run before you leave for the Temple.  I’ll see to it that your, asset, is properly outfitted for the work while you are away.”

“Yes Master,” Asajj said.

“Take Vos with you,” Dooku added, turning away.  “Marichanne has the information you need.”

Quin turned to Mishap, gesturing him close, “Go with Dooku.  Obey him so long as his orders do not contradict mine.  He will see you prepared for the mission.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Mishap said, and saluted, then bowed, before turning to run after the Sith.

“He’s going to be killed,” Asajj said softly.

“I have faith,” Quin said, “it’ll turn out fine.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mishap was going to die, and it won’t even be his fault.

The Count had handed him over to Armsmaster Duan Hurank to be outfitted for the mission as well as to run a few training exercises to familiarize himself with the equipment and show that he was, in fact, experienced.  It had gone well to start with, Mishap was pleasantly surprised by how much muscle memory he had when it came to hand to hand combat.  As long as he managed not to get in his own way, Mishap was well able to hold his own against the opponents Hurank assigned.

Blasters were equally easy.  After a few adjustment shots, Mishap was hitting his assigned targets ten for ten, and he was eight for ten on precise hits.

It was the final weapon, a staff, that Mishap found trouble with.  The staff was light weight, and sized small enough for his grip, but long enough that he was able to menace his opponent with a few fancy tricks.  Staff spinning looked pretty, but it wasn’t a fighting trick.  His first opponent came at him with the staff held in a two-handed grip that brought Mishap to respond in kind.

The moves weren’t as smooth as the hand to hand, he found him hesitating, even guessing, until a fumbled move ended with him holding the staff on one end instead of the middle.

The world clicked.

There were no other words for how right it felt, holding his staff like that.  When his opponent came at him again, he moved with a self-confidence that even his hand-to-hand had lacked.  He saw each move and countered it with no thought.  A few stray thoughts, about Form or Makashi, or Jar’Kai, crossed his mind, but he didn’t dwell on them.

Finally, in a move that was so smooth that it took Mishap by surprise, he disarmed his opponent and put him in the ground, hard.

“Enough.”

Count Dooku strode across the training center, a black wood staff in his hand.

“My lord,” Hurank said, bowing.  Mishap quickly copied him.

“I will spar you,” Dooku said, staring at Mishap.

“My lord!”  Hurank said, sounding scandalized.

“Silence, Armsmaster,” Dooku replied.  “Prepare yourself, boy.”

Mishap rolled his shoulders and swung the staff a few times, readjusting his grip on instinct.  He brought the sword into a neutral starting pose and waited.  Dooku assumed a similar stance, looking almost thoughtful before launching his attack.

Mishap counted the move and shifted, turning the block to his own strike on instinct.  Dooku moved back and Mishap followed.  Their staffs flicked back and for, slowly at first, allowing Mishap time to see and block each move, then faster.  The faster Dooku’s moves because, the easier Mishap followed.

Suddenly, Dooku disarmed him and reached out.  An invisible force gripped his body, holding him in place.  Then something slammed into him.  The world spun, fading into blackness.

When it cleared, Mishap found himself standing on a dirt path on a grassy plane.  He looked around, the sky above was cloudy, a mid-tone gray that promised rain, but allowed light from the sun to pass through.

“Where am I?”  He said.

“This is your mind.”

Mishap turned to find Count Dooku standing on the path behind him.  “What do you mean?”  Mishap asked.

“Someone taught you to fight as a Jedi,” Dooku said.  “I want to know who.”

“I don’t know who,” Mishap said, as the clouds above rumbled with thunder. _“I can’t remember.”_

“So, I see,” Dooku said.  He turned and bent over reaching for the grass.  Purple streaks of lightning shot upwards, surrounding his hand until he pulled it back.  “Someone doesn’t want you to remember.”

Mishap reached out, again the purple lightning appeared.  It felt like he was being stung by a thousand ants.  “I don’t understand, sir.”

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” Dooku said finally.  “It’s a shame we don’t know who taught you Makashi.”

“The sword fighting?”  Mishap guessed, and shrugged, “I don’t know.”  He glanced at Dooku from the corner of his eye, “Does this mean you’re going to talk Master Quin and Mistress Ventress from taking me with them?”

“On the contrary,” Dooku said, “I want you with them now, more than ever.  Do you not want to go?”

“More than anything, I want to go,” Mishap said.  “They, they’re important to me.  I trusted them as soon as I saw them, and, especially Master Quin, I just, I knew I was safe.”

Dooku was quiet for a long moment, “You are to be taken to the infirmary.  After you have recovered from my probe, you will be properly outfitted for the mission.  Try not to get into trouble before Vos and Asajj return.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Mishap replied.  He closed his eyes as the world began to shift and opened them to find himself lying on an infirmary bed.  He sat up, and then curled forward, pressing his hands to his eyes as his brain began to throb with pain.

“Awake, are we?”  A medical droid said.

“Hurts,” Mishap managed to say, whimpering at the brief increase in pain.

“Here is a painkiller then,” the person replied.  There was a soft hiss, and a biting pain before cool relief led to Mishap uncurling from his seat.  Watching him was a silver-plated droid, looking like someone had fused a protocol droid with a medical droid.

“Thank you,” Mishap said as the pain continued to recede.

“Of course,” the droid said.

“How soon can I get out of here,” Mishap said.

“Six hours,” the droid replied, “provide that the pain does not return when the pain killer wears off.”

Mishap grimaced, but he’d promised to obey.  “Is it possible for me to get clean, then?  I feel disgusting.”

The droid was silent a moment, “It is possible.”

“Without being observed?”  Mishap added on.  “I’ll even sit if that’s what it takes.”

“No observation will be required,” the droid said finally.  “The refresher is through that door.  Clean clothes will be waiting when you emerge.”

“Thank you,” Mishap said again before sliding off the bed.  He hung on for a moment to allow his body and brain to adjust to being vertical, then headed for the ‘fresher.

As he was puttering around, preparing for his shower, Mishap became aware of voices that he traced back to a vent in the linen storage.

“If the Count writes his own chronicles, then why are we even here?  What’s the point in having chroniclers if we don’t do our job?”

“We record the story of House Dooku, and the planet Serenno.  That is more than just the Count.  As to why he keeps his own chronicles, that is his decision.  Our job is to store them here, in the black vault, until they are needed.”

“It’s not pointless, our jobs?”

“If you thought that, you’d be looking for a new one.”

The vent was large, wide enough that Mishap was popping the cover off and sliding in before his brain fully registered the decision.  Even then, he only backed out long enough to turn on the shower.  Then he was back in the vent, which ran horizontally only a short ways before going vertical.  The vent that had carried the speakers to Mishap was the only other one on the level.  He looked in to see two people, one a Mirialan, the other Pantoran.  They were leaving as he watched. 

He quickly eased the grate off as the door closed and then eased into the room, looking around.  There were datacards on display, each carefully labeled.  He moved over, studying them.

The oldest datacard was labeled 969 RR.  Mishap found a datapad and slipped the card in, holding his breath as the card was read and its information became available to him.  After a bit of scrolling, he paused, re-reading one particular paragraph.

_My Master and I have agreed on the Orders to be encoded in the Clone biochips.  It is of note that we have no intention of ever using most of them.  The only true Order in the chips shall be Order 66: All Jedi have become traitors to the Republic and are to be executed immediately.  It will be years before that order can be given, but it is the best path for the Galaxy.  I grieve that my Padawan is dead and was unable to see how far the Order has fallen before he was lost.  This is a necessary evil, as are many things I must yet do.  The Galaxy will be a far better place when that day comes._

Mishap glanced up, realizing that he’d been gone longer than he should have been.  He quickly set things to rights and rushed back to the infirmary refresher.  He’d barely gotten his clothes off and had dunked himself in the tub before the droid opened the door.

“What the kriffing hell?”  Mishap demanded, suddenly grateful that his hair was short and was easy to dampen.  Long hair could take ages to be thoroughly dampened.

“You failed to respond to my queries, I was concerned,” the droid said calmly.

Mishap snorted, “I was meditating.  It’s relaxing.  Now go away so I can finish and get out of here.”

“I am a droid, I do not care about your state of undress.”

“I care,” Mishap said, “go away.”

“Here are your clothes,” the droid said, pushing an anti-grav tray into the room, then backing out.

Mishap cleaned himself up and climbed out of the tub.  Once dressed, he retrieved the datapads and shoved them in his waistband.  He quickly returned to his designated bed, and, mindful of the droid and the cameras, managed to shove them both into an empty storage compartment under the bed while seemingly fixing his shoe.  That done, Mishap settled onto his bed, resting on his back, eyes closed.  Before too long, he was asleep.

When Mishap woke up again, he found Quinlan Vos sitting on the side of his bed.

“Good morning sunshine,” Quin said with a smile, “How are you feeling?”

Mishap considered a moment, “I’m starving.”

“Good, breakfast is waiting on you,” Quin gestured, and a droid approached with a tray.  He moved so that Mishap could sit up and eat.  “After you eat, we’ll get your equipment and get on our way.  Be warned, Asajj is in a bit of a mood.”

Mishap nodded, his mouth full.

“I’m not sure what Dooku thought he was doing,” Quin continued, “but if you experience any pain or disorientation, then let me know.”

“I will,” Mishap managed after a moment.  “Sorry, I’m really hungry.”

“It’s okay,” Quin said.  “When you’re done, get your gear and get to the landing pad, we need to get moving.”

“Yes sir,” Mishap replied.

There was something familiar about the ship when Mishap first saw it, but as usual, the memory proved elusive.  Feeling it to be inconsequential, Mishap instead focused on getting his things put away and meeting the pair of Bothans who would be piloting the ship.

They were somewhat more unfriendly that anyone else Mishap had encountered, so he resolved to avoid the cockpit at all costs.  Fortunately, there was a game table in the lounge, and Quin frequently made time to indulge him in another rematch.

“You’re good at this,” Quin said.  “Not as good as me, but you’re good.”

Mishap shrugged, “I think I could be better, but I’m not sure how.  It’s like, I’m missing something.

“You’ll figure it out,” Quin replied.

“Maybe,” Mishap muttered as he began resetting the board.

“you don’t believe me?”  Quin asked.

“I just, you’d think there’d be more, by now.  Memories don’t just vanish, Master.  The doctor at Serenno scanned me for everything, said I was within parameters.  What does that mean?”

“You got me,” Quin replied, “I’m not any kind of healer.”

“I just want something to make sense,” Mishap muttered.

Thankfully, the ruins they were to explore were only a two-day hyperspace jump from Serenno, although Mishap hadn’t expected to be on a MidRim territory.  It wasn’t an interesting planet either, being Human habitable, with the ruins in a place experiencing high summer, and punishing heat.

“I think I’m melting,” Mishap announced as they watched the ship take off to find a more inconspicuous landing spot.

“Not yet,” Quin said easily as he adjusted the small pack on his back.

“Remember, there are Force traps here,” Asajj said, “we need to avoid triggering them.”

“Yes dear,” Quin replied.  “After you.”

From the air, the structure had been a pentagon, and it had been easy to see that the top three or four levels had been damaged to some extent, but the lower two levels were generally intact, and the map had indicated underground structures as well.

Mishap didn’t say anything as they entered the ruins, but he thought it looked like the site of some long-ago war fortification, not a Temple.  The walls inside were inscribed with a strange, twisting language that Mishap couldn’t follow for long without feeling light headed and ill.  Instead, he kept his attention on the corridor ahead, wishing that the others had let him take point to keep an eye out for unknown dangers.

The movements, watching their back, checking the corridor for trouble, it all came to him, if not easily, at least with enough surety to know that he’d done this before.  He had learned this from someone, somewhere, and that he’d been good at it.

Even still, he’d been surprised when they rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with a Twi’lek holding a lightsaber up for light and at least a dozen white armored troopers.

“Kriff,” Mishap muttered, bringing his blaster rifle up and moving to cover by the corridor.

“Aayla?”  Quin said.

“Master Quin?”  The Twi’lek said, her arm lowering fractionally.

“Now’s not the time,” Asajj said and launched an attack at the Twi’lek.

The clone troopers opened fire, so Mishap joined in.  He was a bit surprised to realize his rifle was set to stun, but he opted not to adjust it now.  If the way Quin had said her name was any indication, the Twi’lek Jedi, Aayla, was important to him.  That meant her people were also important.

After a moment’s hesitation, some of the troopers opened fire on Mishap.  In short order, the corner he’d been using for cover had been badly damaged, the scoring from blaster fire looking almost as if something had been taking bites from the stone.  Mishap was driven back by the firing, stumbling over the uneven floor until he ran into the back wall.

“No, wait,” Quin called, as Mishaps head connected with the wall.

Something inside him surged upwards, something he’d not been aware of until it flooded through him, overwhelming the world in a way that left him unaware of anything else.


	3. Stars and Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially the story of Misha's life. It's shorter than the last two chapters because I wanted to make it a chapter you could pass over on a re-read if you so desired.
> 
> This chapter also has a soundtrack!
> 
> "I'm Still Here" from the Treasure Planet Soundtrack (by John Rzeznik)  
> "Touch The Sky" from the HOME Soundtrack (by Rihanna.)
> 
> (Misha's general soundtrack includes Kid Rock's 'All Summer Long', 'Drift Away' and 'Follow Me' by Uncle Kracker, and 'Chicken Fried' by Zack Brown Band.)

“He knows he’s the youngest, and he’s angry.”

Misha had the world divided into stars and storms before he had the words to explain it.  Stars were for family, the people who looked the same on the outside, but were as different within as the stars in a night sky.  Even as an adult, he couldn’t make them understand that Alderaan and Naboo and Tatooine all had stars, but they were all different.

Storms, he’d come to know as the Jedi.

Master Plo, who made Misha think of dark dust storms in an inhospitable clime.

“He scares me, _Buir,”_ Misha had whispered after meeting the masked Master.

“Master Plo is one of the greatest Jedi Masters in the Galaxy,” Zip replied as he smoothed back Misha’s hair.  “He’s strong in the Force, and a very formidable fighter.  Yes, he can be a little scary, but it’s the good kind of scary.  Master Plo will protect you from the real monsters.  That’s the best kind of scary.”

Master Nick, a summer afternoon’s rain storm, washing free the dust and reviving the land.

“He’s growing well.”  Master Nick said.

“He has ears, and he’s growing up better,” Misha retorted.

“Better than what?”  Master Nick replied.

“Better than One-Shot or Foxxe or Glider.”  Misha wrinkled his nose on the last one, his cousin was only older than him by a few _days_ and would never let him forget.  “Because I learn from their mistakes before I make my own.”

Master Nick chuckled, “I think you are, little one.  Just remember to learn from their successes as well.”

“That’s the _easy_ part.”

Master Kara, a spring thunderstorm, lingering and a hint of cold, but filled with the promise of something new.

“When the moment comes, and you need it the most, the Force will always be there.  It will never desert you.”

“Never?”  Misha couldn’t hide his skepticism, “then why do we have to be careful not to upset it.”

“What do you mean?”  Kara asked.

“You said that we should be careful about using the Force when we’re angry or afraid because we won’t get the good side of the Force.  If we can make the Force upset about when we’re calling it, how can we trust it to always be there when we need it?  It’s not like a blaster, you only lose a blaster when you throw it at someone.”

Kara knelt down so that they were on the same eye level, “Misha, the Force is always there.  It is a part of everything around us.  There are things, objects and creatures, that can distort the Force, or dull the connection for a short time period, but it’s always there.  Using the Force when you’re upset means that you risk pulling from the Dark Side.  The Dark Side is dangerous and addictive, it pushes you to do horrible things.  As a Jedi, you never want to pull from the Dark Side, even though it can happen.”

Master Quin, a tornado given Kiffar form, changing things for the sake of change.

“Kid, if you’re going to survive to adulthood, you’re going to need some help.”  The big Kiffar declared from his perch on the edge of Misha’s medical bed.

“I’ll make it,” Misha said, waving his bandaged hand, and flinching at the pain that not even the good drugs could fully dull.  “It wasn’t that bad, I mean it did work.”

Quin grinned at him, “You may make it, but I’m offering to help.  I’m in need of a Padawan.”  He held out his hand, cupped inside was a yellow-green bead that was a near match for Quin’s tattoo.

“Me?”  Misha said, “I’m not exactly a model initiate.”

“I’m not a model Jedi,” Quin replied.  “I know there’s a lot we can teach each other.”

Perhaps that was what drew him to Master Quin from the start.  Misha didn’t like thing to stay as they were.  He longed for change, for adventure, even as a toddler.

His _buir_ and his _ba’vodue_ had been quick to set boundaries, to give him a structure to live within.  It had chaffed at times, but it had also been reassuring.  He’d had a place in the world, somewhere to plant his feet and grow.

Not that all of his growth was positive.  Tiny Misha, half the age of his classmates and still putting half of them under medical care for daring to call his _buir_ a “Jedi Killer”. Growing up and building a variety of nonsensical items until the infamous hovercraft incident put _him_ under Healer care and left him with interesting scaring on his right leg and hip.  The pirate incident that nearly got him killed, not by pirates, but by the upset Jedi Master whose old ship he borrowed.

The good more than outweighed the bad, however.

Master Nick teaching him to heal.

First by healing those he’d hurt, then by healing his family.  It wasn’t a strong talent, but Misha took to heart any number of lessons about people under Nick’s tutelage.

His _buir_ showing him how to hold a blaster.

That one was funny because he’d learned to punch from Uncle Swoop, and that had made _Buir_ so mad.  Misha could remember his _buir_ ’s pout, and then the child-sized blaster had appeared, with _Buir_ patiently showing him how to wrap his hands properly around the gun’s handle.

Master Kara teaching him balance.

He’d also learned to laugh at himself from her lessons.  Especially physical balance.  The soft, foam balls hadn’t hurt, but the bruised ego that came from falling off the assigned beam had taken time to master.  The lead in to metaphysical and psychological balance had been awkward in so many ways, but Misha had learned, and internalized the lessons he’d learned.

His _bo’vodu_ building the first obstacle courses and setting the times to beat.

Now that had been sheer fun.  Both watching his _bo’vodu_ running the course before realizing that his best time was a hyperspace jump compared to what Misha could do.  Rusty had run the course a full week before figuring out how to slow down to a more realistic goal for Misha.  Then he’d reset the course records every time someone figured out how to do beat them to keep them challenged.

His cousins growing up with him, learning to work together and apart against various enemies.

One-Shot, agender by nature but just as bold as any of them.  Earning a reputation for accuracy on the blaster ranges, but utterly failing in their first battle and earning their name as a lesson of hubris, and the hangovers after the celebration of finding themselves..

Foxxe, as bright and brash as her parents, with her mother’s compassion tempered by her father’s intolerance for fools.  She had always known herself, and her place in the Order, even if she’d been more likely to call Master Plo Koon _ba’buir_ or grandfather instead of Master was proper.  Misha had snuck out of bed to watch her being knighted with his friend Mercy, and they’d won money on her vowing to find her father and bring him home.

Mercy, carefully showing him lift-feather and how high, and Faith, supervising when they got bored.  Faith had been training with his master during the hovercraft incident, or they’d never have been able to fire it up.

Master Quin, teaching him the tricks of a lightsaber, and teaching him to be a Jedi.

Earning the right to go on missions, the long hyperspace trips filled with Jedi philosophies and stories about Master Aayla, Master Quin’s beloved first Padawan.

Meeting Lady Asajj on their missions, the bounty hunter with the twin blades who had taught him Makashi and had offered herself as another sparring partner at Jar’Kai. The bounty hunter hadn’t stuck around often, but she’d been willing to teach him about lightsabers, the tricks that had Master Quin swearing with amusement and disgust when she caught him out.

Then, the rhythmic breathing that inspired dread and even fear, followed by a red blade that turned the cargo hold into a hellish nightmare.

Master Quin fought the black clad Sith, blade twisting back and forth to meet the Sith’s attacks.

The Force powered order sent Misha running away, to a ship.  Knowing even as he threw himself through the hatch into someone’s grip that Master Quin was dead.  It had taken him forever to calm down enough to realize that he was sobbing all over Sophia Wright, Master Quin’s second Padawan, now a Knight.

“Hey,” she’d said, “remember, Master Quin always said he’d die with four regrets.”

“Dying to save his Padawan wasn’t one of them,” Misha had whispered.

“Yeah,” Sophia said.  She shifted slightly, getting comfortable.  “You know, Master Quin asked me once if I would train you, if something happened to him.”

“Do you think he knew?”  Misha asked.

“I couldn’t say,” Sophia said, “but you know as well as I do that future visions wasn’t in his usual bag of tricks.”

Misha nodded.  The few times he’d had visions of his own, Master Quin had comforted him afterwards, but had seen to it that others gave him the lessons he’d needed.

“So,” Sophia said, “may I finish your training?”

Misha bit his lip a moment before nodded.  “Yes please.”

“Thank you,” Sophia said.  She reached over and tugged one of Misha’s curls.  “Losing a Master will never be easy.  I lost two, well, three now.  Master Kar-ti died in the Clone War, and Master Aayla fell during,” she hesitated, and Misha nodded.  He’d heard that story a time or too.  “Well, I won’t tell you not to grieve, Misha.  Only to understand that while there isn’t a time line or a time limit for grief, it does become less.  It will always hurt in some way, but it will become less, more manageable, if you let it.”  Sophia pulled him into a hug, “I’ll teach you how to do it.”

Then it was new missions, and different goals.  Misha started focusing on his piloting, dedicated now to getting to the Alliance.  The Empire had created that black monstrosity, and Misha wanted to see them fall.  He was cautioned about seeking revenge, but Misha knew his path, had known it since he’d added Master Sophie’s bead to Master Quin’s.

He’d bid a final farewell to Asajj along the way, in a back alley where they traded power cells for information.  The bounty hunter hadn’t crossed his path again, but they had both known that was always possible.  There was between them the ghost of Jedi Master Quinlan Vos, and an unspoken debt.

After his knighting, he was in the Alliance, where he found names that were hauntingly familiar, Xanadu Biyani, and new faces, like Tycho Celchu.  A history of dealing with the prejudices of people traumatized by the mass murder of their greatest protectors held him steady through training.  That and a lot of meditation, in unusual, usually high, places.  He’d made friends, proved his worth, and kept his lightsaber out of sight.

And meditated.  A lot.  On his X-Wing, on rooftops, in trees, on the catwalks of various ship’s hangers.  Whenever he had the hour to spare, Misha meditated, usually doing a handstand, but sometimes not.  It gave him time to rebalance from losing people and helped him find the words to be a support to his squadrons as needed.  After losing his hand in a bad ejection during a space battle, Misha had grounded himself to readjust to his hand.

That had led to his transfer to his final squadron, and the Temple that had brought him out of time.


	4. Familiar Faces

As Aayla’s vision cleared, she found that she had fallen to her knees, with Bly and Pulsar blocking her from view by Ventress, Quin, and the boy.  She blessed them mentally, realizing that they’d understood the difference between Force trouble and an attack.  Aayla reached up and tapped Bly’s hand, where the gloves would pick up the touch.  He shifted, letting her see the trio, even as he helped her get to her feet.

Ventress was crumpled against a wall, her head in her hands.  She looked stunned, as if her world had been shaken.  As Aayla let Bly support her, she saw the boy, Misha, straighten up.  He’d been crying.

A whimper drew Aayla’s attention to Quin, who was on his knees, one hand pressed to his forehead.  Misha stumbled forward, falling to one knee in a move that was little more than a fall.  He carefully, hesitantly put his hand on Quin’s back.  Quin jerked up, twisting to stare at Misha.  Whatever passed between them, Aayla couldn’t sense at first.

“I’m sorry,” Misha said, “I couldn’t, I didn’t know.  Master,” he hesitated as Quin flinched away from him.

Aayla didn’t need the Force to see the pain in Misha’s face at that move.

“General,” Bly said quietly.

“He’s a Lissian,” Aayla replied, glancing quickly at her Commander.  “He, he comes from the future.  It happens, but, somehow, he lost his memory.  He just got it back.”  She leaned into Bly’s shoulder, twisting her head slightly.  “His dad was a Commander of the GAR, um, Zip?”

“He’s a Captain,” Bly said, “General Saje’s captain, in the 425th.”

Aayla blinked.  Kara Saje and her 425th had saved their lives the year before, she remembered meeting the straight laced and exasperated captain then. 

“His name is Misha,” Aayla continued.

Misha lunged forward, grabbing Ventress’s arm and staring into her eyes.  “Sidious will force Dooku to betray you.  I don’t know the exact time, but it will happen.”

“Why tell me this?”  Ventress yanked her arm free.

“I owe you,” Misha said.  “I- I promised you payment to the debt, but now, I don’t know that events will come to the same conclusion.  So, this is a partial payment on that debt.”

“You don’t even know that those circumstance will exist,” Quin said quietly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Misha said, “there is a debt there, one that I cannot ignore.  My Masters taught me better than that.”  He stepped back from them.  “You need to go.”

“We have a mission,” Quin said, his voice hardening.

Misha smiled, shaking his head a little, “You always were bad at seeing beyond your own hands.”  He shifted slightly, “Besides, I can’t be a part of your mission.  Not now.  That is a path I cannot walk.”

Aayla reached for her lightsaber, and felt her men tense around her.  The boy was going to get himself killed.

“Count Dooku knew you would be a traitor.”

Now that, that was General Grievous.  Aayla signaled Bly, who turned with half the men, all of them taking aim on the General.  Aayla kept her eyes on Misha, prepared to save the boy from himself.

“I am no traitor,” Misha said, “I have given away no secrets to your cause.  I’m not even a part of your cause, and I never was.  You cannot be a traitor to a cause that is not yours.”

“What are you doing here, Grievous,” demanded Ventress.

“Dooku thought your pet would betray you,” Grievous replied.

“Haven’t yet,” Misha said casually.  He had his hands behind his back, and an open expression that conveyed amusement and a degree of calm that had Aayla wondering if he’d been drugged.

“You are a Jedi.”

“You’re a cyborg,” Misha replied.  There was a soft clinking noise, like something had scraped stone.  Aayla glanced around but didn’t see anything except for her people moving to cover the droid guards who had followed Grievous.  There was a flash of light in the corner of her eye, she glanced back to the boy and noted a pair of lightsaber hilts were gliding just above the stone from Grievous to Misha.  Once they were behind Misha, the two hilts lifted into the air.

“You have no lightsaber, child,” Grievous snapped.

“You don’t have a brain stem,” Misha retorted.  He leaned back slightly, “Are we just going to play Captain Obvious, or are we going to get something done today, I’m bored.”

Grievous snarled as he drew and ignited two lightsabers.

Misha grinned joyfully as he dropped into a ready stance, “Ke nu'jurkadir sha Vod'ade!”

“Don’t mess with the children of the brothers,” Bly murmured.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Aayla said softly, reaching for her lightsaber.

Misha ignited the two sabers Aayla had seen floating to him.  Then Ventress ignited hers, followed by Quin, who looked torn as he did.

“General,” Bly said.

“Keep an eye on the droids,” Aayla said as she turned on her own saber.  Brother-padawan, Jedi, time traveler, whatever else Misha might be, she wasn’t going to make him face three Dark side Force users on his side.

“Those are mine,” Grievous declared.

“You stole them from the dead,” Misha replied.

Aayla moved forward, planting herself between her men and the others.

“Stay out of this Aayla,” Quin said.

“No,” Aayla replied, “not this time.”

“Don’t worry, jetti-vod,” Misha said, his grin widening slightly.  “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeves.”

Aayla eyed Ventress and Quin, waiting for them to make a move, but it was Misha who caught her attention.  He lifted up on the balls of his feet as he moved around Grievous, then dropped.  The thump of his heels hitting the stone floor was obscured by the Force’s reaction to the movement.  There was an outward, rippling sensation that rolled over Aayla with all the subtilty of a charging bantha, then slid back in, swirling around Misha like a whirlpool.

Quin was white, his lightsaber pointed at the ground in a loose grip.  He stared at Misha, who met Grievous’s attack with a grunt then moved away, his sabers darting to catch Grievous’s attack.

“Quin,” Ventress snapped, Quin shook his head slightly.

Aayla hauled herself back on track as well, surging forward when Ventress made her move.  Behind her, her men opened fire as ordered.  For a moment, it was her against Ventress while Misha handled Grievous.

The Force swirled around them as a living thing, and Aayla listened to it, her lightsaber dancing her hands as she made each block.

Then she ducked, moving away from Ventress’s blade, and a flying object that she later identified as one of Grievous’s arms.

 “Farewell, General Grievous,” Misha declared.  “May the stars shine to guide you home.”

Aayla broke clear of Ventress long enough to see Misha and Grievous.

Grievous had his remaining blade in front of him, spinning as a shield.  Misha crossed his lightsabers, forming an x that was barely wider than his chest, and he lunged forward, shoving the blades into the center of Grievous’s spinning hand.  There was a hissing screech, and the lightsaber cut off, falling away along with most of Grievous’s hand.

Misha ducked and spun, moving into Grievous’s now armless side.  It was a perfect shot at the cyborg’s unarmored neck and Misha took it, letting Grievous fall, lifeless.

Aayla turned back just in time to catch Ventress’s next strike, as if her opponent had also been caught up by watching the fight.

Then there was a sharp whistle and new troops flooded into the room, led by two Jedi Knights and a Padawan.  Ventress backed off, joining Quin at the mouth of one of the tunnels.

“Until next time,” Aayla murmured.

“That will take longer than you think.”

Aayla turned to look at Misha.  “What do you mean?”

Misha smiled at her, “You’ll see,” he paused, “I hope.  Now, who is it that I’m going to have to explain myself to now.”

“Oh, it’s just the 425th and 429th,” Aayla replied.

“Oh,” Misha said shortly, “oh good.  That’s, yeah, I can do that.”

When the droids were cleared, the Jedi approached, Jaran Val pausing only to hand off his helmet to one of his troopers while Kara Saje dropped her arm around her Padawan’s shoulders as she studied Aayla and Misha.

“Hi Kara, Zip, Chip, Master Jaran,” Misha said, sounding upbeat, “I’m Misha.”

“When did I become a Jedi Master?”  Jaran asked, amused.

“Uh, about fourteen years ago, when I was four,” Misha replied.  “You beat Kara by about seven months and have never let her live it down.”

“Misha,” Aayla said, “is Lissian.”

“Oh good,” Kara said, pulling her Padawan into her side, “We needed another one running around.”

“Well, I could say that I’m dealing with a Hazard situation,” Misha said, “although I don’t think it counts if it was a Vos and not a Val.”

“What?”  Jaran asked.

Misha chuckled, “It has been my experience that the Val Clan’s Jedi are exceptionally gifted in the unintended utilization of Force Artifacts.”

“And how many Val Clan Jedi do you know?”  Jaran asked.

“Two,” Misha replied, “although there’s supposedly a new Padawan as well, but I haven’t been home to see.  And anyway, Vos wasn’t the problem, her wife was.”

“And did you have to kill Grievous?”  Kara asked, “The Council has very strong opinions on changing things.”

“Yes,” Misha said, “because the Grandmaster of the Order has made it the official, number one rule of becoming a Lissian in the Clone Wars.  Change everything.  Kill Grievous, stop the Sith, give Dooku a kick in the ass, anything and everything to make changes.”  He paused, “Incidentally, about the temple on the sanctuary moon in the Chandri system?”

When they all looked at him, he nodded, “You haven’t been there yet.  Okay, good to know.”

“What happens at the temple on the sanctuary moon in the Chandri system?”  Aayla asked carefully.

Misha smiled at her, “A tea party.”

“Anything else you can tell us?”  Kara asked, “Since you’re changing things?”

“No,” Misha replied.

“Why not?”  Kara asked.

“Because at this point in time, you don’t have the resources that would serve to effect a great change in the war.  In another year?  I would be spilling all my secrets,” Misha replied, “But right now, the things that most need to be changed are better off in the hands of others.”

“Then who?”  Kara asked.

“Who else,” Misha said, “General Buir, Master Plo Koon.”

“General Buir?”  Jaran said.

“You haven’t heard?”  Misha asked, crossing his arms and grinning, “Everyone knows that’s his nickname.  It was gifted to him after the Malevolent, in response to his handling of his people.  Supposedly, an attempt to give Commander Wolffe the nickname Commander Ad failed, and my Uncle Bexar swore that the one person who ever spoke of it in Commander Wolffe’s hearing vanished, never to be seen again.”

“Somehow, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Bly murmured from behind Aayla.

“I’m supposed to rendezvous with Master Plo Koon once the artifact is secure,” Aayla said, “I’ll take you with me.”

Misha smiled at her, “Thanks, jetti’vod.”

“What do you mean by that?”  Kara asked.

Misha shrugged, “It’s a word we use for Padawans with the same Master.  In Jedi terms, it’s the closest we come to actually having siblings, right?”

“Sounds about right,” Kara’s Padawan offered.

Kara’s comm unit beeped and she pulled it off her belt, “General Saje.”

“General, Lieutenant Swoop, the artifact is secure on the Retrieval.  Jumper and the Hawkbats are standing by to begin departure proceedings on your command.”

Aayla glanced at Misha, who had a soft, fond smile on his face as he watched Kara’s people.  Then he glanced at her and his smile became a smirk.

“All right, Swoop.  We’ll be up soon,” Kara replied.

“If it helps,” Misha said, “you do get a wrist unit soon.  I know it was before the temple, at least.”

“That’s good to know, I’ve only put in a request seven times now,” Kara replied.  She gestures to Jaran, “We should get going anyways.  We’ve probably overshot our timeline.”

“She’s right,” Jaran said, although he was clearly reluctant to leave.  Kara reached over and hooked her arm around his.

“Say goodbye, Jaran,” Kara said.

“Good bye, Jaran,” Jaran replied as he let her steer him away.

Misha shook his head slightly, “And they wonder where I get it from.”

“Your stunning good looks?”  Aayla asked.

“My manners,” Misha replied.  “Right before this happened, my Captain looked me in the eye and asked how in the hell did I ever make Lieutenant.”

“Captain?”  Aayla repeated.

Misha sighed, “Right, that, uh, so shortest version possible, things go bad.  Really bad.  That’s why I’m under orders to create change.  Back home, I work with a group working to fix things, in their military arm.  They, they don’t actually know I’m a Jedi, for the most part.”

“Why not?”  Aayla asked.

“Because it’s dangerous,” Misha said, “it’s not safe for anyone to have a Jedi around.  Also, their personnel forms did not have any option to report my midichlorian count or philosophical beliefs.”  Misha paused, “Although, to be fair, I think I skipped a few pages after I almost punched out the personnel officer.”

“Why would you do that?”  Aayla asked.

“Because he tried to force me to take a second name,” Misha said.  “My name is Misha.  That’s it, just Misha.  It’s good enough for my dad, it’s good enough for me.”

Aayla nodded slightly, “I can understand that.  Now, we should withdraw as well, before we shoot up any more of the temple.”

“I follow your lead,” Misha replied with a bow.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having Misha with them was an experience, Aayla thought, watching him in the mess.  Misha was surrounded by clones, a bright smile on his face as he exchanged jokes and stories with men he’d wholesale called his uncles.  There was an occasional moment of sadness, but she’d never seen anyone else pick up on it.  Not until the door opened and Bly came in.

For a fleeting moment, Aayla could pick up sadness and pain from Misha, but it was gone when Gear asked him another question.  From the gestures Misha was making, it was probably related to flying.

“General,” Bly said quietly as he approached.

“Commander,” Aayla said, smiling at him, “have a seat?”

“Thank you,” Bly said.  He tilted his head towards Misha, “How’s he doing?”

“He’s adapting,” Aayla said, “I think the pilots are going to refuse to give him up though.”

“Oh?”  Bly asked.

“They’ve been trading flying stories for over an hour now, and none of them are giving up yet,” Aayla said, wrapping her hands around her mug.

“Sounds like he’ll get along with General Plo Koon too,” Bly said.

“It does,” Aayla nodded.

“Speaking of, we come out of hyperspace in twenty minutes,” Bly said.  “Do you want me to stay here?”

“It’s not necessary,” Aayla said, “Captain Tyto has it under control.”

Bly leaned forward, “Aren’t you at all worried about how, taken, the men are with him?”

“Not really,” Aayla said and finished her drink.  “I should be on the bridge when we get there, this is not going to be easy to explain.”

“Barr,” Misha said suddenly, loudly, “CT-41/14-0301?”

“I am,” Lieutenant Barr said carefully.

“It’s uh, I,” Misha looked flustered, “It’s an honor to meet you, of course, but.”  He ran a hand over his head, looking almost panicked.

“Is something wrong?”  Aayla asked as she approached.

“No,” Misha said slowly.

“I get the feeling I’m not exactly a friend,” Barr said carefully.

“That’s not,” Misha began, then closed his eyes, lips moving quickly in what Aayla thought were swears.  “It was done _to you,_ it wasn’t your fault.  It’s just, I knew, but I didn’t think and now, kriff.”  He sank down in his chair and dropped his head onto the table, “There’s a reason why I need to talk to Master Plo first.”

“Misha,” Aayla said.

Misha tensed, then looked up, and Aayla almost stepped back.  She knew that look.  It was the one Bly gave her when they were in trouble.  The one any of her troopers got when they were going to do something impossible, something for her, something that might get them killed, but would get the job done.  She didn’t see it often, given the helmets that were part of her men’s armor, but she knew what it felt like, and she’d seen it enough.

“There’s a list,” Misha said quietly, “my uncles who were destroyed by what happened to them.  In it’s full form, across the GAR, it’s impossibly long, but there are names, those I grew up hearing about, from Kara and Master Jaran, and Master Quin, and my _alit._   Those are the ones I’m going to save, even if I have to take care of it personally.”  He turned to Barr, “I apologize, even seeing my dad, I didn’t think I’d run into someone from the list.  Forgive me for panicking.”

“Forgiven,” Barr said.  He reached over and put his hand on Misha’s shoulder, “And if you need help, just ask, I’m always willing to help family.”

“Thanks,” Misha said.

The ship shuddered, and alarms started going off, “I didn’t do it,” Misha announced.

“General Secura, Commander Bly to the bridge,” Jan’dira said over the comms.

“Misha, you come to,” Aayla said as Bly took off running.

“Yes ma’am,” Misha replied.

They arrived on the bridge to find that they were facing the _Liberator II,_ currently under attack by one of the large Separatist ships.

“What do we know?”  Aayla demanded as she joined Jan’dira.

Misha sucked in a breath as he joined her, eyes focused on the display identifying the ships.

“Problem?”  Bly asked.

“The _Menderhaw,”_ Misha said, “I, the people I served with, they claimed her for use.  My first battle with them, we were protective detail.”  He crossed his arms, “I knew, there were a lot of Confederate ships that were claimed after the war, but it’s another to see it.”

“I don’t suppose you know any weaknesses?”  Aayla asked.

“Twenty-five years later?”  Misha replied, “I wouldn’t say so.”  He had his head tilted, eyes watching the read outs sharply.

“You want to be out there,” Aayla said quietly.

Misha gave her a quick grin, “No ship, Master.”

“I get the feeling if you did, we’d never stop you,” Aayla replied.

“Well, if you had a really good reason,” Misha teased.

Suddenly, the Separatist ships were retreating, their vulture droids falling back quickly.

“That should not be happening, should it?”  Misha asked.

“No,” Aayla said.

“If it were, well, I would almost wonder,” Misha replied, “it could be because something worse.”

“Sir contact from the _Liberator II,”_ Break called.

“Put it through here,” Aayla replied, turning to the closest viewscreen.

Plo Koon’s face appeared just as Misha took several hasty steps backward. 

“Aayla Secura.”

“Master Plo Koon,” Aayla said, bowing her head in respect.  “I see we have unexpected company.”

“I do not trust this retreat.”  Plo Koon replied as he inclined his head in acknowledgement.  “I strongly suggest we prepare our own withdrawal.  Site Besh-Nine, perhaps.”

“Agreed,” Aayla said.

New alarms sounded.

“Ships coming out of hyperspace!”

Aayla turned to acknowledge the information.

“Four _Lucrehulk_ class battleships have just come out of hyperspace.”

Aayla muttered under her breath, “Sir, I think I will have to strongly agree.”

“General Secura.”  Aayla looked up to find Misha hovering just out of range of the visual pick-ups.  He looked nervous, but determined, “May I have a moment, sir?”

Aayla nodded to Plo Koon and stepped aside, “Yes?”

Misha swallowed, “I can deal with the _Lucrehulk._   I just need a good ship and an astromech who can program a proton torpedo.”

“Something you’ve done before?”  Aayla asked.

“No,” Misha said, “but the _Lucrehulk’s_ weakness has always been around the hanger-bays, and it’s been proven several times that it’s possible to destabilize the power supply with a properly aimed proton torpedo.  I’m not a Skywalker, or from Tatooine, or Rogue Squadron, but I can make that shot with a little help.”

Aayla wondered briefly what Tatooine, or Rogue Squadron, had to do with making a shot like that, but dismissed it immediately.

“Aayla Secura,” Plo Koon said.

Aayla stepped back, “Yes, Master Plo Koon?”

“Who is that who speaks?”  Plo Koon asked.

Aayla considered for a moment, how much could she say over the comm.

“I’m a Lissian Jedi,” Misha said suddenly, “Master Plo, if the 124th pilots are half as good now as they will be during my training?  I can guarantee two of those cruisers will go down.  I’d prefer not to be more specific than that, though.”

“You can use my aethersprite,” Aayla said, “R2-B8, my astromech, can program those torpedoes.”

“This will not win the battle,” Plo Koon said.

“Not trying to win, Master,” Misha replied, “If I’ve understood the nav right, you’ll have to come about to make the run to lightspeed.  Two squadrons to deal with the vultures until you’re in position, then they fall back, it is Y-Wings, yes?”

“Yes,” Aayla said quickly.

“Put the Y-Wings on board, and I’ll follow once you’re away.”

“Aethersprites don’t have hyperdrives,” Plo Koon said.

Misha muttered something Aayla didn’t understand, but which sounded vulgar.  “I miss my X-Wing,” he lamented.  “How do aethersprites go through hyperspace then, I know they do.”

“Hyperspace ring,” Aayla said.

“Officially the best thing to happen in the next twenty-odd years, the founding of INCOM and the creation of the X-Wing, complete with shields and an onboard hyperdrive in a single man fighter,” Misha said softly as he tapped his chin, “What are the odds of them blowing up one of those rings?”

“High,” Aayla replied shortly, “but we’re in better shape than the _Liberator._   Covering for them and picking up the remaining fighters won’t push us red.”

“Are you sure you can do as you propose?”  Plo Koon asked.

Misha grinned, then deliberately moved so that Plo Koon could see him fully, “Master Plo Koon, I have no doubt at all as to my ability to achieve victory.”  He bowed and turned to Aayla, “The aethersprite?”

“Bly will show you where,” Aayla said, “I’ll let the astromech know to expect you.”

“Thank you Master,” Misha said.

“Don’t die,” Aayla said.

Misha hesitated, then stepped forward, putting his hand on her shoulder and leaning in.  “If I die, get your medics to remove the chips in the troops brains.  Then beat some sense into the Council about how to properly arrest someone so it doesn’t look like an assassination attempt.”  He paused, “And there’s a boy in the creche, Jaymez Biyani.  Let him see Anakin Skywalker, and kick Master Nicholas Saje and Master Cersa’ven until they listen to what he’s telling them.”

“Just that?”  Aayla asked.

“Oh, that’s a fair start,” Misha replied.  “Seriously though, Jaymez needs to be in the hands of the Healers soon.  He’s not ill, but what he can do needs to be trained.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Aayla said, “but you’d better go.”

Misha gave her that same careless grin, sketched a bow to Plo Koon and gestured to Bly, “Lead the way, Commander.”

\-------------------------------------

As Misha followed Bly to the hanger, he wondered if he’d done right to give those three hints to Aayla Secura.  They weren’t detailed, but they could have a strong impact on things even if he died.  Especially if she believed him about Mercy.  That was the best he could do for his friend, and if they did actually believe Aayla and Mercy, then that would be the biggest change of them all.

“That’s Aayla’s aethersprite,” Bly said, pointing to it.

“Thanks,” Misha said.  He paused, and swallowed, “Commander.”

Bly looked at him, “I’m not going out there to die, but I’m well aware of what can happen in a battle like this.  I just, I need to know, if Master Secura follows through on what I’ve told her, will you stay with her?  Even if she ends up going against the Council?”

“Absolutely,” Bly replied, no hesitation.

Misha closed his eyes and nodded slightly, “Thank you.”  He paused, then hugged the commander before running for the aethersprite.

The astromech was already in it’s socket as Misha approached, and it beeped sharply at him.

“Hey,” Misha said, “what kind of language is that?  I’m Misha, by the way, and I appreciate your help.”  He slid into the command seat and sighed.  “What I need especially from you is for the torpedoes to be programmed to fly straight for,” he paused, struggling to remember the distance properly, “let’s go with three hundred yards and then swing left for the first one and we can adjust afterwards if necessary.  How does that sound?”

R2-B8 whistled sharply and Misha paused to read the full statement on the screen.

“Right, right,” Misha said.  “I can’t guarantee how close I can get to the hanger bays, that’s why we’ll run the adjustments with each mark.”  He finished the start up sequence and turned on the comm system.

“General Misha, this is Sky Squadron reporting in.”

“Oh let’s not do that,” Misha said, “I wouldn’t respond to that at all.  Is there a Blue Squadron fighting with us today?”

“No sir.”

“Then just tag me as Blue Four.  It’s something I’ll respond to a hell of a lot faster than General.”

“Blue Four, sir?”

“Yes,” Misha said, “Lieutenant Misha of Blue Squadron, leader of second wing, numbered Blue Four, sometimes a Jedi, and you are?”

“Sorry, I’m Lieutenant Able of Flash Squadron, Flash One.”

“All right Lieutenant,” Misha said, “your job is to keep the enemy distracted while I make an impossible shot or three.  Let’s go.”

“On your tail,” Able said.

Once they cleared the hanger, heading for the _lucrehulks_ , Able cleared his throat.

“Yes?”  Misha asked.

“How is one sometimes a Jedi?”  Able said finally.

Misha couldn’t help it, he laughed, “In my defense, the Alliance doesn’t ask for midichlorian counts or philosophical and or religious affiliations except in relation to death rituals.  I fly single-man fighters in combat, not wave a lightsaber around.”  He considered the Inquisitor, “Well, not unless they start it.  Being a Jedi is not the primary aspect of my resume most of the time, being a damn good pilot is.  Besides, that’s Skywalker’s job.”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Misha wanted to swear.  He _knew_ they’d catch that one.

“Do you know General Skywalker?”

“Master Plo,”  Misha said, relieved to hear an actually familiar voice, “I mean, General Plo Koon.  Are you joining us?”

“I am indeed.”

Another aethersprite appeared just off Misha’s wing and Misha couldn’t help his smile, even as he remembered Master Plo’s question.

“I don’t know Master Anakin Skywalker well,” Misha said, “we’ve met in passing.”  The rhythmic breathing threatened to drag him in, but a wave of vulture droids proved a fine distraction.  “I was referring to _Luke_ Skywalker.  I know he’s related to Master Skywalker through his mother, Shmi Skywalker, but that’s it.”

Master Plo hummed softly but didn’t say anything as the vulture droids became a more pressing problem.  Misha cut his comm to internal, “All right, B8.  May I refer to you as Bait?”

_Because I am the bait to draw enemy fire?_

“No,” Misha said, “because you’re baiting the trap for me.  I would never use an astromech as bait.”

_You say that now._

“I say that because as soon as I tried it, every astromech in the fleet would know about it and refuse to work with me,” Misha replied.  “Volunteering for the role is one thing, but tricking or forcing it, never going to happen.”

 _You may call me Bait,_ B8 said after a long moment.

“Thank you,” Misha replied.  “Can you program the torpedoes to fly on a thirty-degree curve for a hundred meters, swing left, fly straight fifty and impact on contact?”

_I can._

Misha hesitated then snorted, “Will you do so?”

_Done._

“Thank you, Bait.  Now, let’s go blow up a _Lucrehulk,”_ Misha said as he turned back on the comm.

It took him a moment to sort out the orders, cries, and calls for assistance for the voice he needed most.

“There, hit him hard on the left.  White 3, watch your back.  Blue 4, what’s your status?”

“I’m preparing for my first run.  We’re designating them as Targets 1, 2, 3, and 4.”  Misha said promptly.

“We follow your lead,” Able said calmly.

Misha took a deep breath, then opened himself to the Force.  It was no different than when he’d done so against Grievous in theory, but it’s execution was far different.  With the Force to guide him, Misha dropped into the run that would save his people.

\----------------------

Wolffe watched as the pair of aethersprites landed in the bay, glowering to cover up how relieved he was to see his General back where he belonged.  The second pilot, the one that Bly had shot him a private message to warn him looked like a brother, well, that one Wolffe determined to reserve judgement on.  He stood amid his people, watching through narrow eyes as the Jedi left their ships.

Misha did look like a brother with his hair cut so short, but it was also curling, more than Wolffe saw in a brother.  There were some differences to his chin, it seemed broader, and his lips were fuller, if you know how to look for that.  The bigger differences, for Wolffe, was the way Misha moved.  In some ways he was freer in his gestures, his smile was quick and bright, and his hand brushed over his lightsaber, a movement that was frequently seen in younger Jedi.

Perhaps the most surprising difference, as Plo led the younger Jedi over, was in his voice.  Misha had the broader accent of an Outer Rim native, with emphasis in his speech that Wolffe heard most often in native Mando speakers.

“Wolffe, this is Jedi Knight Misha,” Plo said as they came to a stop before Wolffe.

Misha started, eyes quickly looking him over in surprise.  “You’re Commander Wolffe, as in _the_ Commander Wolffe?”

“Only one in the GAR,” Wolffe replied.

“Misha is a Lissian Jedi,” Plo continued, “meaning that the Force has brought him here from the future.”

“I take it we’ve never met,” Wolffe said after a moment to process.

“Not for lack of trying, sir,” Misha said.  “According to the people I’ve been networking with, you haven’t been avoiding me deliberately, but neither have you been willing to let me schedule a meeting.  It’s very frustrating, and there are some people who would really like me to bring you home.”

“People?”  Wolffe asked before he could stop himself.

“Uncle Bexar, Uncle Sinker, Uncle Boost, the entirety of Star Squadron, your Lady Friend, the Head of the Order, and another lovely young woman who you never met but who has based a great deal of her life choices on meeting you.”

Wolffe clearly didn’t hide his relief at some of those names, given the look that Misha gave Plo.

“What about the General?”  Wolffe asked.

Misha bit his lip, “That is a very good question, and one I should not answer in an unsecure location.”

That was definitely not promising.

“And before that, before anything,”  Misha said, “I need to speak privately with Major-Doctor Val on a matter of some importance.  I can’t explain why, not before I speak with her, but it is perhaps the most important thing I could say to change the future.”

“Should you?”  Plo asked.

“That’s the order of the Jedi High Council,” Misha replied.  “Change the future.  I know my history, I know specific things what will impact the future.  First was insuring Grievous died.  Speaking to the Major-Doctor will be the second.”

“Wolffe, take Knight Misha to the medical bay.  Have Doctor Val perform a full medical check-up on him.  You have my permission to remain there for the exam, but do not attempt to overhear what should be shared between them.”  Plo said, “I have a feeling that in this, Misha will be correct.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Wolffe saluted.


	5. Chapter 5

Doctor Krysta Val pressed her hands into the open bed and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath.  Space battles didn’t have many major injuries, if the pilot didn’t eject, they were dead.  This time, there had been some burn injuries from an exploding console at an auxiliary station, and that was all.  Whoever had handled the space battle had lost three men, but that was all she’d heard from the brothers who had come to collect their injured upon release.

Then the door opened, and Krysta straightened up as Wolffe came in, followed by another.  Krysta scanned him, taking in the lack of a uniform and the curly hair before glancing at Wolffe, who looked disturbed.

“Commander?”  Krysta said as she walked forward.

“Doctor Val, this is Jedi Knight Misha,” Wolffe said, gesturing to his companion.

Misha grinned and gave her a wave, “Hi, Major-Doctor.”

Krysta blinked, “I’m sorry?”

Misha blushed, “Sorry, is that not a thing yet?  I mean, uh,” he winced, “crap.”  He glanced at Wolffe, who did not look amused, “So, the short part is, I’m from the future.  Master Plo and Master Aayla already vetted me as a Lissian.”

“The General would like for you to give him a quick check up and he said there are things he specifically needs to tell you before he tells anyone else,” Wolffe added.

“Okay,” Krysta said, and focused on the part she could understand, “Come over here and have a seat, Knight Misha.  Is there anything I should be aware of?”

“A few things,” Misha said, “and please, just call me Misha.  I don’t really do the Jedi thing.  It’s complicated and I’ve known you since I could walk and it’s hard to remember that you aren’t the person who started the joke that I should be called Mishap when I was four and kicking ass at school.”

“At four?”  Krysta said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“My genetics will tell you this, but my _buir_ is Vod’e, the other parent was Ilandrian,” Misha said as he settled on the indicated table.  “I age faster than an Ilandrian, but not as fast as my father did.  Also, my hand,” he waved his left hand a bit, “I lost it, oh, must have been seven months ago now.  This is a prosthetic.  There’s also a lot of scaring on my left leg and hip, but that’s old.  I did that when I was eight.”

“I see,” Krysta said, “what happened to your hand?”

“A bad ejection in a space battle,” Misha replied, “I don’t really remember it, thankfully.”

Krysta took his hand in hers and studied the flesh-toned design, “Interesting.  The neural relays,” she murmured as the thumb twitched.

“No clue,” Misha said, “contrary to popular stereotypes, not all pilots are genius tinkering engineers in their spare time.  Some of us have other strengths.  All I know is that it works, and I can pilot my x-wing again.”

“Now, as to your thigh,” Krysta said.

Misha sighed, “Yeah that, burn scars, deep ones, from an explosion that was mostly not my fault.”

“Mostly?”  Krysta said.

“You know how I said I wasn’t an engineer,” Misha said, glancing at her with an innocent and earnest expression, “well, I didn’t exactly build it.  I mean, I handed Faith the tools, and I helped find the parts, but she built it.”

“Built what?”  Krysta asked.

“A hover sled,” Misha said, “sort of.  It did hover, but it also exploded.”

Krysta studied Misha’s face for a moment, “So, how long have we known each other again?”

“Eighteen years,” Misha said promptly.

“How old are you?”  Krysta asked, “For the records?”

“Eighteen,” Misha said.

He looked older, mid-twenties easily, but it was in his eyes.  Unlike Wolffe and his brothers, Misha’s youth was still in his eyes, even if he was clearly trying to hide it.

“And there was something else you needed to talk with me about,” Krysta said.

Misha nodded, giving Wolffe a nervous look.  “It’s very important, future breaking even, and it’s on orders from the Jedi Council, to change the past.  The problem is that the Commander cannot be in ear shot, nor any other Vod’e, and I don’t know how to explain that part without risking the very thing I need to explain to you.”

Krysta nodded, “Well, Stitch is off duty and no one else is in Medical, so there’s that.  Let’s go back to my office, Wolffe can stay on the wall across the med bay and the door’s big enough he can watch us.”

Misha nodded, turning to look at Wolffe, “This isn’t going to be fun and games, Commander.  She’s going to be upset, but please, do not come in the office.”

Wolffe glared at Misha and Krysta reached over to put her hand on Wolffe’s arm, “Please.”

“Okay,” Wolffe said.

Misha bit his lip but followed Krysta to the back of the infirmary to her office.  He settled in one of the chairs and twisted to watch as Wolffe took up a position across the room.

“I’ll let you know if he moves,” Krysta said.

“Thank you,” Misha said, “and I am so, so sorry about this.”  He glanced at his hands a moment, “I have a question first.  Have you, do you know yet?  About,” he paused and glanced up at her, “about the, uh, changes in your body.”

“No,” Krysta replied, confused.  She hadn’t, well, her body didn’t exactly run on an exact calendar.

“Oh,” Misha said, “that’s, um, well.” He looked flustered and awkward.

“You might as well tell me,” Krysta said.

“You’re pregnant,” Misha blurted a moment later, “I- I can tell, and the time’s right anyways, but, if you want to test.”  He trailed off, blushing.

“This isn’t the horrible thing, is it?”  Krysta asked, trying to focus on the matter at hand.

“No,” Misha shook his head, smiling fondly, “Foxxe is awesome and my favorite cousin.  It’s just, she’s a part of this, and I thought, it might be something to help balance the bad.”

Foxxe, Krysta thought, her hand brushing her belly, “I named my, my daughter Foxxe?”

“No,” Misha said, “You named her Mysta.  Foxxe named herself Foxxe.  The _vod’ade,_ those of us with clone fathers, and those we’ve adopted as _ours,_ we name ourselves, like the vod’e.  Well, my buir named me Misha, and I haven’t wanted to change it.”

Krysta smiled a little, naming her daughter after her grandmother was more like her.  “All right then, what’s the bad.”

Misha’s smile faded and he squared his shoulders, “There is a chip in the brains of the vod’e.”

“Yes,” Krysta said, “the aggression inhibitor or whatever they’re calling it.”  She clenched her fist, “Slave chips.”

“Worse,” Misha said quietly.  “Given the right orders from the right person, and the chip will, it overrides their free will, steals everything they are.”  He bit his lip, “It happened in 981, and the order given made them believe that the Jedi had become traitors to the Republic and were to be executed immediately.  Within three days the Order was gone, less that two hundred Knights and Padawans survived, and about fifty Masters, including three Council Masters.”

“No,” Krysta whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Misha said.  “There’s no nice way to say it.  The survivors were given refuge by the Ilan Alliance and the Order in Exile has spent the last twenty-two years rebuilding, rescuing the vod’e and any Force sensitive children they could find.”

“Who, who would give that order,” Krysta said as she tried to calm her mind and focus.

“The Chancellor,” Misha replied.  “The, the whole thing is unclear.  No one who knows why survived to get off Coruscant.  The story given was that the Jedi attempted to overthrow the Chancellor, complete with footage, and that to protect the Republic going forward the Republic would be remade into the First Galactic Empire under his leadership.  Those who objected found themselves arrested for treason, hunted down by the Emperor’s weapon, a Sith Lord named Darth Vader, the only Jedi to have remained loyal to the government.”

“How?”  Krysta demanded.

Misha snorted, “How else?  The Sith Master that the Jedi have been hunting for destroyed Vader’s mind, making him a slave, an attack ack for lack of a better concept.  That, there’s nothing you or I can fix, but there are people in the Temple who can, if I have to shoot them in the ass to make them listen to me.”

“Somehow, I’m not sure that would be effective,” Krysta said, latching onto Misha’s threat as something concrete in a world that was going crazy around her.

“You’d be surprised,” Misha said with a slight grin.  “That’s for later, the problem for now, for us, is those damned chips.  We need to get them out now, and the only way I know of is surgery.”

“That’s not going to be easy,” Krysta replied.

“I’m not a healer,” Misha said, “but I know that it can be done quickly.  The chip’s easy to get to once through the bone, and six hours in bacta afterwards and you’d never know they had surgery.”

“Maybe if I had experience,” Krysta said, “but while I have surgery experience, and I know the theory of that kind of neurological surgery, I won’t go in someone’s brain and risk destroying everything.”  She paused, glancing over Misha’s shoulder to Wolffe, “But, hold on.”  She turned to her data pad and pulled up her casualty files.  “There may be an option.”

“Okay,” Misha said, “if I can help.”

“Not right this moment,” Krysta said as she stood up.  “I need to ask Wolffe something.”

“You can’t,” Misha said, also standing, “as long as he’s chipped, you can’t.  If he knows, it’ll activate.  That’s why I insisted he be out of earshot, especially because he’s an officer.  The activation, all that they needed was to get an officer, there was some kind of signal, as soon as the officer was activated, so was everyone else.”

Krysta closed her eyes and counted to ten in Huttese to calm down, “I’ll be careful, Misha.  Wolffe trusts me.”

“Okay,” Misha said, easing back into his seat.

Krysta smiled at him, “It’ll be okay.”  She walked out of the office, holding her arms out slightly as she approached Wolffe in a request for a hug.  Even knowing what lay behind that fierce gaze, Krysta couldn’t deny how safe she felt when her partner pulled her close and held her.

“That bad?”  Wolffe asked.

“Worse,” Krysta replied, resting her head on his shoulder.  “I need something from you, and I can’t explain why.”

“Tell me,” Wolffe said.

“I need to perform autopsies on the bodies we have in stasis, at least one of them and maybe more,” Krysta replied.

“Do it,” Wolffe said, “if anyone says anything, I’ll handle it.”

Krysta smiled and held on a little tighter, “While I’m doing that, I need you take Misha and get him fed.  Then bring him back.”

“Do you need Stitch?”  Wolffe asked.

“Not for this,” Krysta said.

“Okay,” Wolffe said, he shifted his grip, urging her to move back enough that he could look into her eyes, “Whatever you need, _cyar’ika._   You just have to ask.”

“Thank you,” Krysta said, leaning up to kiss him.

/./././././.\\.\\.\\.\\.\

Wolffe didn’t like the look on Krysta’s face when he took Misha away from the infirmary.  Whatever Misha had told her, it had clearly shaken her deeply, although Wolffe did note that Misha seemed relieved by Krysta’s explanation of doing the autopsies.

“Is there anything I should be aware of right now?”  Wolffe asked Misha as they walked.

Misha crossed his arms behind his back, “Not right now, I think.  I don’t think there’s anything to be done until the Major-Doctor’s finished.”  He glanced over at Wolffe, “I mean, while there are things, I can’t tell you about the future, if you had questions, I could try to answer them.”

Wolffe considered it as he led Misha through getting food and sitting down, “How did Ventress die?”  He asked finally.

Misha winced, “The last I knew, she’s still alive actually.”

Wolffe grunted.

“After Dooku turned on her, she became a bounty hunter and an informant for Master Quin.  After, after Master Quin died, she vanished.  She might be dead by now, for all I know,” Misha said, looking pensive.

“Master who?”  Wolffe asked, even though he had a good idea who Misha was talking about.

“Quinlan Vos,” Misha said as he poked the protein serving on his plate.  After a moment, in a voice so soft Wolffe almost didn’t hear it, he said “He was my first master.”

A clatter of a dropped tray made them both jump, and Wolffe scowled as Boost and Sinker settled down at the table with them.

“Who’s the shiny?”  Sinker asked quietly.

“This is Jedi Knight Misha,” Wolffe replied pointedly.

“Kriff,” Sinker said as Boost chuckled.

“No worries,” Misha said, waving his fork at Sinker.  “I’m well aware of the resemblance.”

“What’s a Jedi doing eating with us?”  Boost said.

“Eating?”  Misha said, “Master Plo was kind enough to allow me to confer with Doctor Val on a matter, and since it’s going to take a while to get my answer, she asked Commander Wolffe to distract me with food.”

Wolffe considered explaining Misha’s origins, but a sharp pain in his shin made him glance up at Misha, who shook his head slightly.  Wolffe scowled, the Jedi had kicked him!

“What unit are you with?”  Sinker asked.

“None right now,” Misha replied, “I was just knighted, and my Master wasn’t on the front lines.  I’m supposed to go on to Kamino after Doctor Val and I are finished.  After that, it’ll be where the Council chooses to send me.”

“I thought all the Jedi were Generals?”  Boost said.

Misha shook his head, “My Master, he isn’t physically able to stand up to this kind of war.  He’s taken over some teaching positions in the Temple to free up other Jedi to go fight, but even that’s hard for him.”

If Wolffe hadn’t known the truth, he would have believed Misha, the Jedi had pulled on a mask that made it seem like he was guileless and open, as if he absolutely believed everything he was saying in that moment.  He was tempted to interrupt, to demand to know what was going on, but held his silence.  Clearly there was something going on, something that Misha couldn’t explain.

Wolffe’s comm beeped and Wolffe turned a way a bit, “Wolffe,” he growled into it.

“Wolffe, it’s Doctor Val,” Krysta said, sounding puzzled and relieved, “I’m ready for Misha whenever you’re done eating.”

Wolffe blinked, “All right, we’ll be there soon.”  He turned back to Misha, who had clearly been shamelessly eavesdropping.  “Finish eating, sir,” he said.

“Right,” Misha said with a nod.

/./././.\\.\\.\\.\

Plo had centuries experience in focusing, but he couldn’t deny that today was one of the more difficult ones when it came to finding his center.  The Lissian Jedi who walked his ship, escorted by his son, was enough of a distraction that he eventually set aside his paperwork to seek meditation.  However, just as he started to rise and do so, an alarm began to ring.

It took only a moment for Plo to realize that someone had activated the medical quarantine.  He reached for his comm when it chirped as the alert died down.

“Master Plo?”  Misha said.

“What is the emergency?”  Plo asked in response.

“Doctor Val and I are handling it,” Misha said, “or rather, she’s handling and I’m standing by.  I need a favor from you though.”

“How can I help?”  Plo asked.

“Seal your office and don’t open it for anyone,” Misha said.  “I- I don’t think we set anything off, but it was close.”  He paused, “Especially don’t open your office for anyone who’s only voluntary thought process is ‘Good Soldiers Follow Orders’.  Please, Master.  I’ll explain, but do that first, please.”

Plo was already locking things down, the fear and anxiety in Misha’s tone enough to tell him that this was serious and not a whim.

“It is done,” He said.

“Thank you,” Misha said, “if, if I remember correctly, your office’s fire suppression system is basically to vent the atmo into space, yes?”

“Correct,” Plo said.

“If anyone tries to force their way in,” Misha said hesitantly.

“I will activate the system,” Plo said, following the other Jedi’s train of thought.  The lack of atmosphere would cause the office to be completely locked down and reinforce the door seals.  While Plo would be able to survived the lack of air, anyone on the other side of the door would be unable to breach the door without venting even more atmosphere out of the ship.  Even as Plo thought of it, he slid on his mask and goggles, preparing for that eventuality.

“Now,” Plo said, “what has happened?”

There was a long silence.

“Did you know about the chip in the vod’e?”  Misha asked finally.

“I do not,” Plo said.

Misha sighed, “There’s a chip, officially to inhibit aggression, in their heads.  It’s a Sith trap, when activated it- it makes them like droids, worse, it strips them of autonomy and key aspects of their personality.  The orders, the dangerous one, it tells them that the Jedi have become traitors to the Republic and are to be executed immediately.”

Centuries of training kept Plo in his seat.  “You know this?”

“It happened,” Misha said quietly.  “The chips, they’re generally inert until the order is given.  It has to go through an officer, but it spreads, like a virus.  The thing is, that’s not the only order.”

“What happened?”  Plo asked.

“There’s another order, one that doesn’t spread.  I don’t know a concise way to explain it, but when Order 39 is activated, the chip makes the vod, well, it makes him write reports about things that don’t get shared with the Senate and send it to a dead drop.  Most of the time, the vod’s completely himself, but when he has something to report, he does so and will never realize that he’s betrayed his _jetti._ ”

“What happened?”  Plo asked after a long moment.

“It was Boost, sir,” Misha said finally, “his chip, he was under Order 39.  I didn’t want any of this to get out, so I suggested that he be a part of the first group that Doctor Val operated on, except when we went to try to explain, it tripped a failsafe in his mind that kicked off the other order.  I had my blaster on stun, just in case, and I put him down as soon as I sensed the change, but I wasn’t sure if I stopped it from spreading.”  He paused, “Commander Wolffe and Lieutenant Stitch are also unconscious, because they were here, but no one else was here.  Krysta, Doctor Val, she convinced Wolffe to send Sinker to your office with Star Squad, since we both agreed that he’d be the first to get the chip removed and thought it would help him feel better.  The Quarantine protects us just as much as the fire system will protect your office, that’s why Doctor Val activated it.”

Plo nodded slightly, “This chip, will it’s removal be detrimental to Boost?”

Misha was silent for a long time, and Plo waited.  “Not physically,” was the final answer.  “But there were vod’e, those who were with their Jedi when they got the order, they never recovered from it.  Some of them,” there was silence again, “Some of them even killed themselves.  I, I don’t think Boost will, but, it hurt him, last time.  He had help, the mind healers helped.”

“Then we will do our best for him,” Plo said.

“I’ll let you know when we’ve got them in bacta,” Misha said finally, “Krysta says it’ll be a few hours though.  If the order did go through, we’ll know before then.”

“I await your comm,” Plo replied before letting the connection close.  He stared at his desk for a long moment before rising.  If there was ever a time for meditation, now would be it.  As he settled onto the platform, he opened his mind, reaching out for his men, to listen for those seemingly innocuous words, ‘Good Soldiers Follow Orders’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. I spent a long time agonizing over being mean enough to do this, but I did it. I will not promise a time frame on an update, but I DO promise that I will have an update. This is not abandoned.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I really, really like Misha's squadron. I have every intention of writing more stories about them, because they're very promising. If you're not sure who's who, it would be:
> 
> Captain Tamanera- leader of the squadron and second in command on base.  
> Lieutenant Osk- Squadron XO
> 
> Mik- Misha's new wingmate and not quite friend.  
> Jed  
> Tailena Vos- While of the same Clan as Quinlan Vos, she is NOT Force Sensitive  
> Keeli Macidottir- Force Sensitive (I'll just, go with that. The rest of Keeli's story deserves it's own chance to be told.)


End file.
